


Imagine Me And You (And Our Parents)

by imunbreakabledude



Series: Not Stepsisters [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: A Love Letter to Boston, Alternate Universe, F/F, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Smut, The opposite of a slow burn, a lot of smut, and rich business bitch villanelle, featuring young(ish) wild and gay eve, like you will be saying SLOW DOWN, the blended family romcom that the s3 promo picture promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 103,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: “Eve, we are all adults here.”“It’s hard to take that seriously when you have your hand in my pants.”-The chemistry between Eve and Villanelle is obvious and immediate, so it's awkward when they find out their parents are getting married.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Not Stepsisters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886842
Comments: 1347
Kudos: 2556





	1. Ironic

**Author's Note:**

> The Season 3 poster was just [begging for this.](https://twitter.com/EveIncorrect/status/1228903877639979008?s=20)  
> If you've read my other fics you probably don't trust me when I say there will be no murder. Truthfully, it's HARD for me to write a Villanelle who doesn't kill anyone, but I swear, this one is going to be 100% indulgent fun.

_“Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you._  
_Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out.”_  
—Alanis Morissette 

* * *

Upon her arrival at Logan Airport, Eve has no family waiting to pick her up; instead, she calls herself a ride to her friend Bill’s apartment, where he was graciously letting her stay for the time being. She wants to avoid staying at home at any cost. Not just because she’s grown up now – after all, Kenny still lives at home while he works through his PhD at MIT, but even with him as a buffer, Eve knows sparks will fly between her and Carolyn if they spend much more time together than necessary. For this reason, Bill’s pull-out couch is infinitely more appealing to her than her old childhood bedroom.

It isn’t a long stop at Bill’s, though; she only says a quick hello and drops her suitcase before immediately heading out to grab a bite of non-airport food, and then it’s off to the club. Bill doesn’t judge, only gives a knowing wink and a “Good luck”. He knows Eve well enough to know that she needs a self-indulgent night to prepare for tomorrow’s family drama, when she will meet her soon-to-be stepfather for the first time over brunch.

Even though she’s tired and stiff from the flight, she’s still on LA time, so the night is young. Her discomfort gives way to a tingle of excitement as she enters the club and is greeted by the pounding music, the pulsing bodies, and the flashing of red lights to the beat. The song pumping through the subwoofers is unrecognizable to her, but nonetheless a welcome distraction from the pity party she’d been throwing herself all day.

Eve is between jobs, between apartments, and forty is approaching faster than ever. Then, in case she didn’t feel like enough of a disaster already, her mother _had_ to go and get engaged before her.

She makes a beeline for the bar, where there’s a crowd about three deep of strongarmed Bostonians and clueless tourists – Eve isn’t sure which group is more irritating. Dusting off her born-and-bred New England assertiveness, Eve shoves her way to the first row, but then it’s yet another battle to get the bartender’s attention, as he seems to want to serve every fake-ID-holding college student before her. _Hello,_ she wants to scream, _Real adult here with real adult problems, get a drink in my hand before I snap._

Right as she’s contemplating murdering the twenty year old in a polo who ordered half a dozen drinks for all his friends, one of the bartenders makes sweet, delicious eye contact with her. Eve opens her mouth to hoarsely shout her order – Long Island Iced Tea, _and don’t you judge me because it’s been a fucking day_ – when she hears a voice from behind her say, “Two Negronis”, and the bartender nods dutifully.

 _Whoever is behind me better have good health insurance,_ Eve thinks as she whirls around to confront the offender, but the sight that greets her immediately makes her budding hometown trash-talk evaporate.

Standing behind her, only an inch or two away in this pulsing crowd, is the most attractive woman Eve has ever seen. Blonde hair with a slight wave cascading down her shoulders. A gray pinstriped blazer open over a low-cut peach tank top. Sleek trousers that look like they could be from the men’s section, and yet don’t hide any of her feminine figure. She looks like the richest dude on Wall Street stumbled out of work and got hit with a fairy-tale curse to turn him into a woman, then he looked down, shrugged, and decided to hit the club anyway.

Eve can’t help but stare, transfixed. At some point she realizes her mouth is open and it takes all of her power of will just to close it again. The woman is staring back at her shamelessly, as if to say, _yes, I did just steal that bartender from you, and what are you going to do about it?_

Just as Eve is starting to recover her wits, and preparing to throw hands, the bartender returns with two chilled highball glasses filled with deep scarlet liquid and garnished with an orange peel. The blonde woman says, “Put it on my tab.” What is that accent? Russian? Then she scoops up both glasses from the counter and offers one to Eve.

As Eve reaches for the cocktail, the woman pulls it away. “One condition,” she says, the light of mischief in her eyes. “Let your hair down first. You can’t expect to have any fun all tied up like that.”

Eve wrinkles her nose, half indignant, half flattered at the brazen flirting, but obliges and lets down her hair which is overdue for a wash, then takes the Negroni and takes a large, blissful sip. “Been a while since someone bought me a drink.”

“A tragedy,” the woman replies, taking a sip of her own drink and sticking her other hand in her trouser pockets. She turns and begins sidling through the crowd, away from the bar, and Eve stares dumbfounded at her back, retreating, until she turns and looks at Eve. The message is clear, so Eve starts after her.

Eve shoves through the jostling sea of bodies to follow the woman over to a small loveseat next to a low table in the corner of the room. A noisy club isn’t Eve’s favorite place to make conversation, but Eve supposes it would be rude to ghost this woman after she bought Eve the drink, so she’ll chance some small talk. 

Raising her voice over the pulse of the music, she asks, “Not to be rude, but where are you from?”

“Here and there,” the woman replies in her husky accent. “Grew up mostly in Russia but we travelled around a lot. Are you a local?”

“I grew up here,” Eve says. “Then left for college. Spent a little while in Chicago, a couple years in Canada, then for the last six years I was in LA…”

“You didn’t like it there,” the woman says, inferring from Eve’s tone.

“Winter sucks, but wildfires are worse.” Eve says, taking the chance to carefully examine the woman one more time. It’s utterly impossible to tell how old she is – from her face, she looks maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven, but she carries herself with the confidence of someone much older.

“What brings you here?”

Eve can feel her forehead tighten instinctively as she thinks about it. “My mother is getting married.”

“I meant, what brings you here, to this club, tonight?”

“My mother is getting married,” Eve repeats.

This elicits a laugh from the woman, a high, pealing laugh that rings out above the rumble of the subwoofers. “You’re not happy for her?”

“Not when she’s getting married before me,” Eve says. “But you know, it’s so typical. She’s always undermining me.”

It’s not like Eve couldn’t get married if she wanted to. She was engaged once, after all, to a really, really nice man named Niko. He was handsome, kind, reliable, considerate, mature, and Eve could not bear the idea of spending the rest of her life with him. One morning, she left her ring on the nightstand with an apologetic note and ran away.

The woman scoffs at Eve’s bitterness. “I doubt she is getting married as some sort of passive aggressive ploy.”

“You don’t know my mother.”

Laughing again, the woman leans forward to look Eve right in the eye. “I like you. I am glad you let me buy you a drink.”

Eve drains the last sip of her Negroni until every trace of red is gone, and the ice cubes clink as she slams down the empty glass. “I have a deep need to dance until I can’t remember my own name. Care to join?”

She stands and offers a hand to the woman, who lights up and takes it excitedly. Together, they push their way in towards the heart of the throng, where the dance floor must be, even though Eve can’t see where the carpet gives way to hard wood with all the people on top of it.

As they reach the dance floor, the music shifts into something faster, with a cascading synth, that sounds familiar to Eve though she can’t name it, but the younger woman’s face lights up with excitement. Eve feels the buzz starting to kick in, warming her veins, making her face tingle, and she surrenders. She lets her unwashed hair fly free as she bangs her head to the beat, catching an occasional glimpse of the blonde woman through her flying tresses.

A dozen or so songs later, after drink number two is drained, Eve screams over the music, “I have to pee!” It’s too loud to hear the other woman’s response, but as she makes her way out of the maze of the crowd, Eve senses her following behind. _Girls always go to the bathroom together, don’t we,_ Eve thinks.

The club bathroom is surprisingly fancy, and underneath the soft incandescent light, they wait in uncomfortable silence to make their way through the line. They could get to know each other better, but the other woman seems to have reached the same conclusion that Eve has, that they’ve moved past that part of the evening, and now, it’s simply a waiting game.

The other woman has hardly dried her hands when Eve is upon her. She receives Eve’s kiss warmly, passionately, her lips welcoming it as if to say, _“What took you so long?”_ Eve vaguely registers a few gasps and nervous laughs from other women in line for the bathroom as they part, allowing the other woman to back Eve up against the wall. 

This is it. This is exactly what Eve came for. Someone to give her one hot night, never to be seen again. This random, Russian, world-traveling businesswoman who makes Eve feel sexy and powerful and like she still has a thousand years ahead of her. Eve throws her head back against the fancy, embossed wallpaper as the woman covers her neck in kisses, hoping the impact will knock all thoughts of tomorrow’s family meal out of her.

At some point, they make their way back out onto the dance floor, but Eve doesn’t remember how, since her field of awareness is limited to only this woman’s presence. Those lips, those teeth, those cheekbones. The strong fingers running through Eve’s hair, or slipping downward towards her hips, to guide her body closer to the woman’s own. This is, sad to say, the most physical contact Eve’s had with someone else in months, and she doesn’t know the woman’s name. She could not be any happier in this moment.

But, God, as good as this is, it brings out the hollow inside her, that feels that hookups are not enough, that does want capital-M _More_. There is a part of Eve, a part she smothers and suffocates because she finds it wholly embarrassing, that does want someone to spend her nights with, to wake up next to, to marry.

No – put that thought away. Tonight, marriage and weddings and her family don’t exist. All of that crap will come back to haunt Eve in the morning, but for right now, the only things that matter are right here in front of her: blonde hair and hazel eyes and Jesus Christ, that _body_.

The noise, the lights, the drinks – they all fade together into an indistinct wash of pleasure, until Eve, blissfully, mercifully, forgets why she came to the club in the first place.

* * *

  
Eve wakes up to the third out of the series of ten phone alarms she set the day before to find that Bill is already gone on a morning run. On a Saturday. At eight. Fuck him for being so healthy and having his life together, while Eve feels a budding hangover from her wild three-drink night.

The end of the night is mildly fuzzy, but Eve remembers leaving the club extremely self-satisfied. Only took five minutes to catch someone’s eye – clearly she’s still got it. And not only did she drink and dance her troubles away, she also managed to hook up with a hot foreigner and never even got the woman’s name. Pretty much club night bingo. So maybe there’s some hope for her love in her future after all. Or if not love, at least some great sex. Eve will gladly settle for that.

She prays that the fancy brunch spot that they were meeting at serves Bloody Marys and calls herself a Lyft.

As she walks into the restaurant, she debates how much to tip the driver when her savings account is starting to look less like she’s a self-sufficient adult and more like she’s a college student on spring break. Head down in her phone, she follows the sound of Carolyn’s voice, which, although quiet, Eve would recognize at any distance, with the uncanny way it cuts through all other noise.

Eve spots the table, and it looks like she’s the last one to arrive. She sees Carolyn sitting next to a balding man with a white beard, like a Russian Santa Claus in the off-season. Kenny’s the first to see Eve, giving her a small wave. As Eve reaches the table and says a brusque “hello”, the man stands up to shake her hand.

“Eve, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Konstantin,” he shakes her hand firmly, then beckons to the other two people sitting at the table. “These are my daughters, Irina and Villanelle.”

As both of the daughters turn their heads to get a look at her, Eve can’t spare a single glance at the younger one. Because there, sitting at brunch with her family, is the woman she met at the club last night. 

Villanelle looks her up and down and curls her lips into a wry smile. “Nice to meet you, Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I be starting another fic? Probably not! But I am feeling extremely stressed about work right now and writing in order to cope.
> 
> as always you can also find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo gossip girl


	2. Let's Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At brunch with her soon-to-be family, including her club hookup Villanelle, Eve panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having lots of fun making a playlist for this fic and imagining all the stupid shenanigans they're gonna get into soon. but for now, some getting-to-know-each-other time!

_“Some Argentines without means do it._  
_People say in Boston even beans do it._  
_Let’s do it. Let’s fall in love.”_  
—Cole Porter

* * *

  
Heart pounding, Eve makes a break for the bathroom.

She said something about having to run, right? She’s pretty sure she muttered some excuse to the families gathered at the brunch table about having chugged a coffee in the Lyft. It isn’t entirely a lie that she needs the bathroom; she does, in fact, feel like her heart is in her throat and might come bursting out at any moment.

She paces, making lap after lap in the tiny, two-stall restroom, running fingers through her hair. How? How can this be happening? This must a stress dream, right?

“Wake up,” she commands her reflection in the mirror, smudged with the soap trails from a recent cleaning. “Wake up right now, you hungover piece of shit.”

A toilet flushes and Eve almost jumps out of her skin. She avoids eye contact with the white haired woman who emerges, gives Eve a brief reproachful look in the mirror, washes her hands, dries them, and finally leaves.

After pinching herself, splashing water on her face, and squeezing her eyes shut as tight as possible to try to awaken by sheer force of will, Eve reluctantly admits that she’s probably in the real world after all. And so, her disbelief gives way to anger.

She couldn’t have just this _one_ thing? This one great hookup, no strings attached, just to make her feel good? No, it had to become an even bigger source of drama.

Eve considers, not for the first time, given the recent series of unfortunate events that has plagued her, that perhaps it is all karmic retribution for what she did to Niko. She’d always felt bad about running out in the middle of the night, only leaving a note, not even having the guts to break up with him to his face… At the time, although she felt guilty, she remained completely certain that it was the right thing to do in the long run, because they’d both be more miserable in the end if she pretended to go along with it, and then they had an unhappy marriage ending in unhappy divorce.

But now, the evidence is piling up that she is in fact being punished for that choice. Or some other wrongdoing. Eve has to admit, she’s had other fuckups in her life that could be the cause of this.

There’s an adult way of dealing with this. Eve should return to the table, act perfectly normal, and pretend like the previous night never happened. But she’s not the type of person who can flip a switch and forget a whole night – especially not one like last night, which she suspects will be burned into her sense memory forever. Blurry though the edges may be, the colors, the sensations are as vivid in her brain as if she’s living them now. The feel of her hands on Villanelle’s skin… of their hips grinding together… how the rest of the crowd receded from her perception until they were the only two people in the club.

Eve feels herself sweating in panic, and the tiny bathroom window starts to look more and more appealing. Just as Eve is mentally calculating how likely she’d be to hurt herself climbing down the fire escape, the door opens, and she’s joined in the bathroom by the last person she wants to be in close quarters with at the moment.

“Good, you’re alive,” Villanelle says. “They sent me to check on you. I expected to find you fondling a waitress or something.”

“You!” Eve growls. “Shut up!”

“Based on my limited experience with you, it’s a fair guess.” _Ugh,_ as if this wasn’t unfair enough already, Villanelle had to show up looking fantastic this morning. Instead of the business casual look from last night, she’s sporting a brown leather jacket over a loose white V-neck and tight cropped jeans. Effortlessly attractive. No sign that she was out drinking and dancing until the wee hours of the morning. 

“Oh god, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Eve says, bending down over the sink. She can’t bear to look at her own reflection in the mirror again, when she feels downright disheveled by comparison.

“You’re being awfully dramatic.”

“Walking into my family brunch to find a stranger I hooked up with and never expected to see again? I’m a tad shocked.”

“You think _you_ are surprised?” Villanelle counters. “You are about the last person I expected to walk in here. After meeting the rest of your white, British family.”

“Yeah, we’re a charmingly diverse NBC sitcom, I know,” Eve grumbles.

Villanelle laughs, that same high pealing laugh that Eve heard last night in the club. The familiarity both warms her and makes her shiver, because the fact that it’s already familiar to her is so backwards.

“How are you not affected by this?” Eve asks.

“Why would I be affected?” Villanelle replies, leaning her side up against the sink, turning to face Eve.

“You – I – _we_ did things. And they, our parents, are gonna get married. You know what that makes us? Almost step–” Eve chokes on the word. 

Villanelle stares blankly. “So?”

“That doesn’t make you feel icky? Like you did something wrong?”

Villanelle shrugs. “We didn’t know.”

Eve lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, the tension slipping off her shoulders like melting ice. “Right… We didn’t know.”

Villanelle straightens up. “Are you going to come back now? Your brother wanted us to wait for you to order, and I’m starving.”

Steadying herself, Eve returns to the table and takes her seat next to Kenny, trying not to think about how it puts her directly opposite Villanelle. 

_Stay calm. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t know._ She finds it much easier to relax after the server takes their orders and brings her a much-needed Bloody Mary.

Her head is still buzzing, but the sip of tomato juice and vodka helps bring her down to Earth, grounding her enough so she begins to understand the words that Kenny and Konstantin are exchanging about some professor at MIT they know in common.

“Eve,” Konstantin says as his chuckle fades. “I’ve learned so much about Kenny already but you are still a mystery. Tell us a little about yourself.”

“I’m sure Carolyn has already told you everything,” Eve says in her best small-talk voice.

“Some,” Konstantin says. “But I’d love to hear it from you. What do you do?”

“Well…” Eve says. “I’ve mostly done, uh, market analysis research.”

“For what company?”

“I’m um, between positions right now.”

Konstantin smiles. “I’m sure something else will come along. Where are you looking?”

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you with the particulars.” Eve fiddles with her silverware. “How about someone else’s turn now?” She turns to Konstantin’s younger daughter. She looks about seventeen, eighteen. “Uh, Irina, right? Are you applying to colleges?”

“I’m going to Harvard,” Irina says.

“Really?” Eve says. “Good luck getting in.”

“I don’t need it,” Irina replies. “I have already completed college-level coursework, I speak five languages, have citizenship in two countries, and I’ve written a heartbreaking essay about my dead mother.”

Eve takes a large sip of her Bloody Mary. This kid has her life more figured out than Eve does.

“Carolyn,” Villanelle interjects suddenly. “Pardon me for being crass, but may I have a look at the ring?”

“Since you asked,” Carolyn says, holding back the smallest of smiles, then holds out her hand for appraisal. Eve doesn’t know much about diamonds, but it’s huge and sparkly, and probably cost several times as much as the modest (but nice) ring she’d returned to Niko.

“Dad, you did well,” Villanelle says approvingly as she lifts up Carolyn’s hand for closer inspection. “This must be close to two carats, no?”

“One point eight,” Konstantin supplies.

“Color must be D, the cut is excellent, and the clarity – VVS1?”

Carolyn is impressed. “You know your diamonds.”

Villanelle shrugs. “One of my colleagues was married to a GIA jeweler. Incapable of holding a normal conversation, but I learned a lot from his droning.”

“It’ll look great with a dress,” Eve supplies, feeling left out of the conversation. “When the day comes.”

Konstantin raises his eyebrows and looks to Carolyn. “Should we tell them?”

“I suppose it’s time.”

Kenny swallows a bit of egg. “Tell us what?”

“We’ve picked a date for the wedding.”

“June third,” Carolyn says.

Tomato juice erupts from Eve’s mouth and sprays all over her plate as she does a spit take.

Irina laughs. Villanelle raises an eyebrow. Kenny passes Eve his napkin.

“I’m so sorry,” Eve gurgles, wiping up the mess she made. “That’s… really soon! That’s like, four months away.”

Carolyn says, “Closer to three, actually.”

“Why so soon?”

Konstantin reaches across the table to take Carolyn’s hand. “When you get to our age, and you know what you want, there is really no reason to dawdle around.”

“Plus, I had a friend that was able to reserve the June date for us at the Boston Public Library, so it was really kismet.” Eve really shouldn’t be surprised, since she knows Carolyn has friends in high places, but getting that booking is still an incredible feat, which she must admit, will make for a beautiful wedding.

“Kismet,” Villanelle says. Eve throws a questioning look at her, and she adds, “Nice word.”

“Since it’s so soon, we are trying to get in as much as we can between now and then. So the family can get to know each other,” Konstantin says.

It takes everything Eve has in her not to let out a loud snort at that notion. Carolyn has never been one for quality time with her present family, so why is she suddenly on board with this? Has Konstantin really changed her so much?

“If it’s only three months, I think I can stay in town until then,” Villanelle says.

“It’s understandable if you can’t–”

“I’ll make a few calls,” Villanelle says, waving off the concern. “I can work out of Boston for the time being. It’s so important to get to know the new family.”

She shoots a look at Eve, and if Eve had a knife, she could stab Villanelle in that moment, but she forces a smile and says, “I suppose I can stay around the area, too.” No need to add the pathetic implication: _because I have no job that will miss me right now._

The small talk continues, and Eve continues to feel more and more like the least cultured person at the table, especially when the Vasilievs sometimes slip into speaking Russian, or French – is the entire family trilingual or more?

When the check finally comes, Eve is relieved to see an end to the torment approaching. Carolyn reaches for her bag, but Villanelle puts a hand on the bill.

“You needn’t do that,” Carolyn says.

“I insist,” Villanelle says. “To new family.”

“To new family,” Kenny echoes, raising a glass, and the rest do the same. Eve lifts her empty glass weakly, though she drained the last of the Bloody Mary fifteen minutes ago.

As Villanelle slides her impressive, platinum-black-premium-whatever credit card into the pocket of the check holder, Eve sees her full name written out: _Villanelle Vasilieva_. She’s surprised, since she had subconsciously assumed that “Villanelle” must be a nickname of some sort. But there’s something pleasing about the double “V” sound. Something rugged.

“One more thing,” Carolyn says, after Villanelle hands the bill back off to the server. “We were thinking of having a small celebration – nothing too crazy – but a sort of engagement party, two weeks from today, provided you all can attend.”

“Yep, that works,” Eve says, jumping in, eager to be the first to answer for once.

“What a charming idea,” Villanelle gushes. “Would you like help planning it?”

“Oh, that’s hardly necessary–”

“Once again, I must insist,” Villanelle says. “In fact, there’s no reason you should be exerting yourself at all. Tell me what you’d like and I will take care of all the plans.”

“That’s too much,” Konstantin says.

“Nonsense,” Villanelle says. “It will be a pleasure. Besides, Eve will help, won’t she?”

“Of course,” Eve says. Jesus Christ. As if it weren’t enough that she is wildly uncomfortable being around Villanelle in general, now she has to help plan a party she hardly wants to plan with her in order to not look even more like the most disappointing stepdaughter. Just what she needs right now.

“Consider it done,” Villanelle says. “Our gift to you.”

“Shall we sit for a while?” Konstantin asks.

“I’d love to,” says Kenny, “But I actually have to go meet someone.”

“The girlfriend?” Konstantin asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“Hold on, girlfriend?” Eve asks. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

Kenny blushes as he puts on his coat. “I was keeping it a bit quiet while it was in the early stages. Her name’s Elena, she’s also a PhD candidate.”

“You can tell it’s getting serious because he’s allowed us to know her name,” Carolyn says, a gleam in her eye. “Maybe we’ll have another wedding coming up soon.”

“Don’t say those kinds of things, Mum. You’ll jinx it.”

After exchanging hugs with everyone (hugs! Like they’ve known each other for years!) Kenny leaves, and the rest of them begin to gather their things and slowly make their way out. Konstantin takes Irina with him, as they’re going to tour Harvard that afternoon, and Villanelle realizes she left her card at the table and returns inside to get it.

Left alone with Carolyn, Eve tries to find interesting things to look at on the sidewalk.

Carolyn busies herself checking her pocket for her car keys, then seems to decide it would be shameful to leave without exchanging a single word to her daughter, so she asks in an overly formal tone, “Where are you staying?”

“Bill’s,” Eve replies with a few too many nods.

“Alright,” Carolyn nods back.

“I mean, I thought about coming home, but I thought it might be for the best–”

“This isn’t about you, Eve,” Carolyn says suddenly.

“I never said–”

“You have an attitude about it,” Carolyn says. “Please, I hope you’ll be able to mature and see that this is a good thing for our family. Or at least pretend.”

Eve had thought she was doing a decent job of that, but makes an extra effort as she says, “Konstantin seems like a good guy. Really.” Then, as guilt prickles at her, adds, “It’s going to take me a little time. To get used to it. But I think the next three months will help.”

Carolyn looks at Eve, unconvinced. “Yes. Well. I will see you soon, I’m sure.”

As Carolyn walks off, Villanelle reappears from the door and cheerily addresses Eve. “So I guess we need to start planning the party–”

Before she can finish, Eve grabs her by the lapels of her leather jacket and yanks her down for a kiss. She holds it for several seconds until she needs to pull away to breathe.

“Are you–?” Villanelle starts, but Eve cuts her off.

“Tomorrow,” Eve says. “None of this will have happened. Starting tomorrow.”

Villanelle raises her eyebrows and smirks. “If you say so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve learned a lot about diamonds from going engagement ring shopping lately. Not for me. Both of my sisters are getting married. So I am hardcore projecting onto Eve in this fic :) :) :)
> 
> let me know what ya think in the comments
> 
> or holler at me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) <3


	3. It Only Takes a Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle get to know each other better as they plan an engagement party.

_“Sometimes, one bite is more than enough_  
_To know you want more of the thing you just got a taste of.”_  
—Sara Bareilles

* * *

“So do you think you’re back home for good?” Kenny asks. They’re sitting in a small café on the MIT campus, sipping coffee and catching up while Kenny has a break in between classes and his tutoring job.

“The next three months, at least,” Eve says. “Past that, I don’t really know.”

“I don’t want to force you, but it’d be really cool to live in the same place for a while,” Kenny says, then mutters quietly, “I miss you, and all that.”

“Don’t get soft on me,” Eve jokes, then adds. “I missed you too. And maybe I will stay in Boston, if that’s what it takes to get an occasional update on your life…”

Kenny blushes in his classic shade of pink. “I already said sorry–”

“I’m not mad. I just want to know why you felt like you had to keep your girlfriend from me? From _me,_ Kenny.”

“I wasn’t sure… The timing, and all that,” Kenny says, “I know you’re going through a bit of a rough patch…”

“Lord,” Eve groans.

“Wasn’t sure it was in the best taste,” Kenny says, looking down at the table. “Didn’t want to gloat.”

Eve sighs heavily. “I know I can be a sullen bitch with Carolyn sometimes, but of course I’m happy for you. I’m so happy that you’re happy. And now that your big secret is out, I demand to meet this famous Elena.”

“Yeah,” Kenny says sheepishly. “Soon. I think you’ll like her. She’s also–”

“A sullen bitch?”

“I was going to say ‘acerbic’, but…”

Then Eve’s phone buzzes on the table. A text message from _V.V._ sits on the screen. _“Still on for shopping? x future sis”._

Eve’s disdain must be evident on her face, because Kenny asks, “What is it?”

“Just an annoying Russian woman who won’t leave me alone,” Eve grumbles, flipping her phone back over.

“Why’d you agree to plan this party with Villanelle if you don’t like her?”

“Like there was any room for me to say no,” Eve scoffs.

Kenny frowns. “I think she’s nice.”

“She just gets under my skin a little,” Eve says. 

“How so?”

“The way she was sucking up. Offering to plan that party. Jumping on the bill as soon as it came.”

“Oh, I see,” Kenny says with a smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out,” Eve says. Kenny stifles a giggle, and Eve kicks him under the table.

“Ow!” He yelps. “What are you, four?”

“Are you?” Eve says. “I’m trying to have an adult conversation. What are you giggling about?”

“You’re jealous,” he says, the pitch of his voice rising as he struggles not to laugh.

“I am not!” Eve gasps.

“It’s alright,” Kenny says. “I would be too. She’s really making a case for herself as the best…future stepchild? Offspring? Member of the younger generation?” Kenny furrows his brow. “What ought we to call ourselves now?”

“First of all, very charitable of you to think there’s some kind of contest between the four of us. Second of all, I have never once been the favorite child and it’s never bothered me before.”

“But it bothers you now,” Kenny says, face growing thoughtful.

Of course Eve is bothered. Not only for the reason Kenny suggested, but also because of the uncomfortable memory of what it was like to have her tongue down Villanelle’s throat – once in complete ignorance of their parents’ connection, but also a second time in full knowledge of it. 

True, Eve had managed to stop herself after about a half hour during their little romp after family brunch. After a little bit of kissing and fondling which turned out to be not nearly as intoxicating in the harsh light of day, she had come to her senses and made a deal with Villanelle that they would forget both incidents and it would certainly never happen again. Nonetheless, the discomfort remains.

Eve is mercifully spared from having to come up with a satisfactory explanation for Kenny that does not reveal the real reason she finds Villanelle’s presence so uniquely agitating, because her phone buzzes again, twice in a row. She flips it over to read, _“Are you coming?” “I can plan without you if you are too busy looking for a job.”_

“I gotta go,” Eve says, shoving her phone into her purse and grabbing her jacket off the chair. “Any chance you’d be free later to help me hide a body?”

“A funeral before the wedding would really kill the mood. Play nice,” Kenny says, then hugs Eve goodbye.

  
Eve makes her way over the Charles River and meets Villanelle on the expansive sidewalk of Newbury Street. Villanelle is intently staring at a street performer covered in silver paint. Eve watches, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement, but Villanelle makes no signal that she’s noticed Eve’s presence, her focus only on the silver steampunk statue in front of her.

Eve watches Villanelle watching the man for probably at least two minutes, until suddenly Villanelle breaks out in a huge grin and laughs. “Ha! You blinked!” Then she turns to Eve. “Shall we hit the shops?”

Eve takes the lead, familiar with the city even though it’s been a handful of years since she lived there. Some of the storefronts have swapped out their signs, but largely, it’s the same as she remembers.

They stroll past plenty of high-end clothing stores, which occasionally cause Villanelle to stop and drool at one of the pieces displayed in the window, but Eve keeps them on course until they reach a general home goods and party store to get some decorations for the party.

“So what happened to your father?” Villanelle asks as they walk down the paper goods aisle. 

Eve is taken aback. “Cutting right to the big stuff, huh?”

“I want to get to know my new family better,” Villanelle says. “And there wasn’t a good time to ask at brunch.”

Eve picks up a package of plastic champagne flutes. “Never had a dad. Carolyn adopted me on her own. There were _men_ , of course, once in a while, even a couple fiancées, so I’ve had the stepdad talk before,” Eve says. “But none stuck.” She turns to Villanelle, thinking it’s only fair to return the question. “What about your mom? Divorced?”

“Died,” Villanelle says plainly. “Cancer. Not long after Irina was born.”

“I’m sorry,” Eve says.

“It was sad. But in a way, it brought us all closer,” Villanelle says, with the tone of someone who has made peace long ago. “You know, since he met Carolyn, it’s the first time I have seen my father truly happy since she died.”

Eve can’t help but let out a small gagging sound as she tosses a packet of fancy napkins into her shopping basket.

“You have a real attitude about this,” Villanelle says.

“You sound like Carolyn,” Eve groans.

“Why do you call her ‘Carolyn’ and not ‘Mum’? I’m no psychologist, but it seems like you work very hard to put up barriers between you and her.”

“I liked you better when I didn’t know your name,” Eve says, then turns and walks farther down the aisle. 

“Now you’re doing it with me,” Villanelle says pointedly as she follows.

Eve stops and pivots to face Villanelle. “I don’t remember signing up for therapy today, so can we skip the psychoanalysis and buy some fucking balloons?”

A tense silence settles between them as they rifle through the myriad balloon choices. Then, Villanelle laughs, and Eve looks over to see her holding up a balloon with the Union Jack on it.

“I don’t think that’s her style,” Eve says curtly.

“Obviously I am joking, Eve,” Villanelle frowns and throws the balloon back on the pile. “I have taste.” She runs her fingers through the other balloon options, and asks, “While you’re already annoyed, I may as well ask what I’ve been wondering since the start: why are you the only one in your family without an English accent?”

Eve snorts. “You waited longer than most people to ask. You want the short version or the long version?”

“Long,” Villanelle says, already rapt, looking at Eve intently.

“Carolyn worked for British intelligence, but had to relocate here after helping to take down a crime syndicate known for being especially vengeful. So she had to basically start over, got a new job over here, and in the midst of her new life, decided to hop on the trend of the time and become a single mother.”

“So she raised you here,” Villanelle says, nodding.

“By the time she realized she was not cut out for motherhood, it was too late to give me back, so we were stuck with each other,” Eve says. “About fifteen years later, Kenny happened and caught us all by surprise. I think she thought her babymaking years were done. We don’t know who his dad is though. Carolyn refuses to tell him, or else she isn’t certain who it is either.”

“And then what happened?”

“Here’s where it gets really fun,” Eve says. “When I was eighteen, Carolyn got word that all the major players from the syndicate were caught and put away, so it was safe for her to go back to the UK. Except it was the middle of my senior year of high school, and I didn’t want to pack up and move to a new country. We got in huge fight about it. I told her I was legally an adult and she couldn’t make me go. So Carolyn said ‘alright fine, you can stay with a friend and finish out the year here.’”

“Really?” Villanelle’s eyes are wide with shock.

“And she took Kenny with her and left me here on my own.”

“Wow,” Villanelle says, and for once, she seems speechless. 

“Of course, when Kenny wanted to come back here for college, she happily decided to retire and move back with him. He’s always been the favorite, but I can’t hold it against him.” Then, seeing the pitying look on Villanelle face, Eve adds, “Not because he grew in her womb or whatever. Just because he’s a good little boy.”

“It really bothers you, huh?” Villanelle says, with the same tone Kenny had used earlier.

“What?” Eve says. “No. I don’t care.”

Villanelle says nothing, but smirks and turns away. Eve trudges after her, and with a rather full shopping basket, they head to the checkout line.

When the cashier rings up all of their decorations, Eve gawks at the number displayed. “This shit’s more expensive than I thought,” she mumbles. “And it’s just for the engagement party. Can’t imagine what the wedding will cost…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Villanelle says as she inserts her card into the chip reader. 

“I can’t let you get all of that,” Eve says out of a sense of obligation, though when she thinks about charging even half of the bill, it doesn’t compare well against the number she last saw in her bank account.

“I made more than this while sitting in my pajamas this morning,” Villanelle says. 

Eve is growing to detest Villanelle’s attitude towards money: namely, that it isn’t important to her, because she seems to have more than she’ll ever need. A day trader. That’s what she’d said she was when they were at brunch. Eve doesn’t know as much about stocks as she feels like she ought to, but she bears a general dislike for the idea of making money in buying and selling imaginary pieces of a company without actually _doing_ or _making_ anything. Then again, she supposes, her old job in market research wasn’t much better, so perhaps she shouldn’t judge. Even though her pride is wounded, she has to admit that it’s nice that she doesn’t have to foot the bill for this dumb party she didn’t want in the first place, so she shuts up as Villanelle signs the credit card receipt.

As they exit onto the sidewalk, each carrying several bags of decorations, Eve takes stock of the day. Her prolonged time alone with Villanelle was really not as awful as she’d expected. Perhaps it’s worthwhile to extend an olive branch. 

“Hey, here’s a thought,” she says to Villanelle. “We’re actually not that far from the wedding venue,” Eve says.

“The library?” Villanelle says excitedly. “I want to see it! Let’s go!”

They begin walking in the direction, and Villanelle nudges Eve to explain all of “the sights” to her. 

“Well, it’s mostly just stores in this area,” Eve begins. “You’ve seen Starbucks before, yeah?” Villanelle groans, but then Eve points to the building as they pass, “Oh, here, this is the best local ice cream chain.”

Villanelle stops short. “If it’s the _best_ , I have to have it.”

Eve weighs the suggestion, and realizes that all the shopping has made her a bit hungry and her lunch has started to wear off, so they enter the ice cream shop.

Villanelle gasps and looks around, taking in the black and white spotted decor. “I feel like I have been swallowed by a cow.”

“That’s the idea,” Eve replies.

“Wow!” Villanelle exclaims, looking at the extensive menu. “Ice cream… Milkshakes… Frappes… I thought milkshakes and frappes are the same thing?”

“Not in Massachusetts,” Eve replies.

“So many flavors,” Villanelle gasps, then, catching the attention of the teenage boy behind the counter, says, “Excuse me? Can I taste the Cappuccino Crunch?” 

The boy hands her a tiny spoon with a lick’s worth of tan ice cream which Villanelle swallows with gusto. “Can I also try the Red Velvet?” 

After enjoying the second sample, Villanelle squints at the menu again. “Rum Raisin,” she pronounces, rolling the R sounds around in her mouth. At this flavor she puckers her lips appraisingly, then turns back to the teenage boy. “What is in the ‘Purple Cow’?”

“It’s black raspberry yogurt, with white chocolate chips.”

“I’d like to try that one, too.”

Eve manages to hold her tongue through a few more samples, but after Peppermint Stick, Green Tea, and Cake Batter, she asks impatiently, “Aren’t any of them good?”

“They all are,” Villanelle says, licking the tiny sample spoon clean and adding it to the growing pile on the counter.

“Then pick one!”

Villanelle pouts. “There’s so many I want to try.”

“You get one sample. Two max. It’s common courtesy,” Eve hisses.

“Sir,” Villanelle says, and the scooper turns around hesitantly, as if he isn’t sure if that honorific applies to him. “Is there a limit on the number of samples?”

“Um, no?” he says.

“See, Eve? There’s no problem.”

“It’s obnoxious.”

Villanelle gestures to the empty space behind them. “No one is waiting.”

“ _I’m_ waiting.”

“Go ahead and order first if you’re ready,” Villanelle says, standing aside. 

Eve steps up and stands on her tiptoes to lean over the counter. “Small cup of Mint Chip with chocolate sprinkles, please.”

The employee makes up Eve’s usual order for her, then turns to Villanelle. “Have you decided yet?”

Villanelle leans in close to examine Eve’s cup on the counter. “That looks good. I’ll have the same.”

Eve is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to text Kenny to prepare for the body-hiding plan after all.

When they scoot down to the register, Villanelle reaches for her wallet, but Eve stops her. “No way.”

“Are you sure?” Villanelle raises an eyebrow.

“It’s ten bucks. I can handle it,” Eve snaps.

“I know you’re unemployed–”

“I have a gift card, anyway. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.” Eve digs through her bag, putting it down on the counter and rifling through the variety of credit cards, membership cards, and receipts stuck in her wallet, until she finally comes up with a scratched pink and black cow-print card.

“How old is that? Is it still good?” Villanelle gives Eve a withering look, which Eve ignores and shoves the card at the poor girl at the register.

The cashier swipes the card, and says, “It’s valid.” Eve smirks, but then the cashier continues, “It has a balance of 74 cents. So your total now comes to $9.06.”

Eve preemptively glares at Villanelle before she can offer her credit card again, and digs out a crumpled ten dollar bill from her purse.

They sit upon stools shaped like cow’s spots and eat their matching ice cream in silence.

After several minutes, Villanelle asks, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Eve replies automatically.

“Good,” Villanelle mumbles around a mouthful of ice cream, “because if you were mad at me that would be very unfair. I’ve been nothing but nice to you.” Eve says nothing, so Villanelle continues. “I haven’t even brought up that thing that you said never happened.”

Eve slams her cup of ice cream down on the counter, causing a few melted drops to spill out. “I’m not mad at you,” she insists, a bit too forcefully.

“Now, if you are in a bad mood because of all the changes happening in your family, that would be very understandable.”

The bluntness of the accusation catches Eve off guard, although she is beginning to learn that Villanelle is a very blunt person. “I don’t care,” she says quickly, “and we don’t need to talk about it.”

“I know it’s a big change,” Villanelle says, her voice suddenly soft and gentle, “but you might like having more family if you let us in.”

“Look, I know I’m a little damaged, but it’s _my_ damage and I’m happy with it,” Eve says. “It’s not like I’ve been waiting my whole life for a father figure to appear and fix all my problems.”

“You’re getting more than just a father figure,” Villanelle says, and reaches out her hand to put on top of Eve’s. Of course, they’ve exchanged plenty of physical touch already – though, Eve reminds herself, _that never happened_ – but this small gesture sends a sensation like an electric shock through Eve. It’s more gentle and somehow more intimate than the time they’d spent with locked lips, and makes Eve feel as vulnerable as if she were naked and locked outside of her apartment.

She picks up both empty ice cream cups and tosses them into the garbage. “We got just about everything we need for the party, yeah?” She says as she zips up her coat.

“Yes, but–”

“Then I’ll see you next Saturday,” Eve says, heading towards the door.

“What about the library?” Villanelle asks, genuine disappointment in her voice.

“I forgot I have a thing. I said I’d meet Bill and help him cook dinner,” Eve improvises quickly.

“Eve…” Villanelle begins, but when Eve turns, Villanelle stops and closes her mouth, like she thought better of whatever she was about to say.

Eve turns and leaves, powerwalking towards the nearest T station. She feels a twinge of guilt at leaving Villanelle so abruptly, but she had to. For once in her life, she is making the mature and responsible choice. Because if she had stayed in that ice cream shop, and kept talking to Villanelle, Eve had a very bad feeling she was going to want to kiss her again, and that would be disastrous, not only for the obvious reasons – the reasons that had already caused them to agree to keep their canoodling a secret. 

But also because Eve realizes she’s being selfish. She realizes she’s been unfair to Villanelle. Each time, it’s her pushing the boundaries, grabbing Villanelle and kissing her, then asserting that it never happened. The first time, they didn’t know – no guilt there, only retroactive embarrassment. The second time, though, even though Villanelle went along with it happily enough as Eve dragged her back to a nearby bar and they made out in a booth for a while, Eve knew it was wrong to use her like that.

And if Eve were to pull that same stunt again, if she were to give in to her instincts to grab Villanelle again in that ice cream shop, only to push her away for a third time, she knows she’d be entering genuine grossness territory. Once is an honest mistake. Twice is a lapse in judgement. But three times? That’s unforgivable.

So the only solution is to stay away. Stay very far away until she can cool off. Let everyone else think it’s just a case of sibling rivalry; that’s an easy enough excuse.

No matter what kind of maneuvering it takes, she can’t let herself be alone with Villanelle again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, Eve's self control won't last very long.
> 
> let me know what ya think in the comments
> 
> or holler at me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) <3


	4. My Junk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While keeping her distance from Villanelle, Eve tries her best to focus on other, more practical matters. But it's hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was hard to write this, today, on such a sad day for Boston. TB12, you will be missed :( a sad St. Patrick's Day indeed.

_“I lie back just drifting, and play out these scenes._  
_I ride all the rush, all the hopes, all the dreams._  
_I may be neglecting the things I should do,_  
_But we’ve all got our junk, and my junk is you.”_  
—Steven Sater

* * *

Bill is off at work, as is most of the world at 9:45 on a Tuesday morning. Gloriously unemployed as she is, Eve has the apartment to herself.

After a bowl of cornflakes and a luxuriously long shower (she makes sure to clean all her hair from the drain afterwards, she’s a guest here and not a complete heathen), Eve sets up in her favorite t-shirt and worn-in jeans on the couch, silences her phone, and opens her laptop.

Time to look for a job.

Kicking her legs up on the coffee table, she opens up posting websites and scrolls through various advertising and marketing jobs in the Boston area, but her heart isn’t in it.

Does she really want to stay in the Boston area? She thinks so. In many ways it’s nice to be back. Although she’s enjoyed her stints in other places, Massachusetts will always feel like home to her. But it isn’t a decision to be made lightly, because if she settles down here, it will mean being near the family. Forever. Seeing Kenny on a regular basis is a definite plus. But will she get roped into family dinners with Carolyn and Konstantin all the time? She doesn’t feel confident that she can handle that with regularity.

Out of curiosity, and desire to get off the job sites, she looks up apartments for rent in Boston, and _holy crap_ , prices have skyrocketed since she last lived here, decades ago. Of course she’s just come from LA so she’s no stranger to high rents, but she thought Boston was supposed to be… less bad. No such luck; the prices are basically the same as what she’d have to pay in LA. All that, plus dealing with blizzards? 

Realistically, it doesn’t matter what she wants at the moment. The fact is, she can’t get herself an apartment without a job, and since the job search is thoroughly unappealing to her right now, she closes her laptop and checks her phone.

Three unread text messages greet her.

One from Carolyn: _Planning shopping trip for wedding attire. Send me your schedule ASAP_

One from Verizon: _You’ve used 65% of your monthly data cap. Reply DATA to this text to purchase an additional 10GB._

And one from Villanelle: _Bad mood over? x_

She doesn’t feel like replying to any of them.

Instead, she unglues herself from the couch and raids Bill’s fridge. She cracks open a cold bottle of beer, fishes out a coozie from the junk drawer just to feel extra at home, and starts channel surfing on the TV.

She stops for a moment when she sees a movie she recognizes, Fever Pitch. “Ugh, I hate this one,” she says aloud, as she continues to watch Jimmy Fallon put his love of baseball ahead of Drew Barrymore. “It’s downright irresponsible,” she shouts at Jimmy Fallon's close-up on the screen. “Not everyone from Boston is like that!” Grumbling angrily, she reaches to take another sip of her Sam Adams in its Patriots coozie.

She doesn’t know why she tortures herself like this, continuing to watch this fluffy movie that she knows will only make her feel like shit. Rom-coms make everything seem so _easy_. Like finding love is just a matter of bumping into your soulmate on the street and making them spill their coffee, or mixing up your clothing with a pretty girl at the dry-cleaners, or getting assigned on a work project with that one co-worker you can’t stand but secretly, have always found attractive.

Real life isn’t like that. In real life, you say yes to a boring man’s proposal because you don’t want to hurt his feelings. In real life, you’re still single at 36. Your job search is a joke, you’re broke, and your love life’s DOA, as The Rembrandts would say.

At some point during the movie, she drifts off, owing to her strenuous morning of dodging texts and applying for zero jobs. In her half-asleep state, she sees a vision of Villanelle in a Red Sox cap, and has to push through the crowds at the Fenway Green Line station to run after Villanelle, but the doors of the train close before Eve can get there.

She blinks herself awake. She’s not in a crowded T station, she’s lying on Bill’s couch, with a wet spot next to her from where her beer bottle tipped in her limp hand and dribbled onto the fabric of the couch. 

Setting down the beer onto the coffee table, she reaches for the remote to turn off the TV, which is now playing one of the Fast and Furious movies. Once she’s left in the overwhelming silence of the empty apartment again, she becomes aware of the horniness she’s feeling.

One way to deal with that. She curls up on her side and unbuttons her jeans. It’s only 12:13, so she has hours before Bill comes home. No need to be discreet.

She closes her eyes and pictures one of her go-to celebs: Jimmy Garoppolo. As she stretches out her body and slides her hand into her pants, she begins the familiar routine, but as much as she tries to picture Jimmy G, the Italian Stallion is usurped by another face in her mind. A smarmy, snarky blonde.

 _Nope, go away,_ Eve tells the image. Think of Jimmy in his 49ers jersey. Sweaty after winning a big game… His rippling muscles, his big hands, his delicate, narrow fingers… _wait, what?_

She pivots – maybe she’s in the mood for women, that’s it. Jennifer Lopez never lets her down. She pictures J.Lo in all her glory, with her flawless skin, her long tresses, her amazing abs. _I wonder what Villanelle’s abs are like…_

 _Stop!_ she commands herself. Think of someone, anyone else. If she’s really craving a blonde to fantasize about, she can at least find another. Betty Gilpin. She’s beautiful; she’ll do. Eve tries her hardest to focus.

But it’s no good. Betty’s face keeps morphing into Villanelle’s, and soon the vision that Eve dreamt earlier, of Villanelle in a baseball cap, is seemingly burned into the back of her eyelids. _Hi Eve,_ she says. Now her whole body appears. She’s clad in a full Red Sox uniform, cleats and all. _Let’s go to a game together. I’d love to see your seventh inning stretch._ She walks away from Eve, then bends at the waist and looks at Eve between her spread legs. _If you’re good, I’ll let you steal third base._

 _I don’t even like baseball,_ Eve says to the apparition, but instead of vanishing, she transforms into that version of Villanelle she met at the club.

 _Remember when you didn’t know my name?_ Villanelle says, clad once again in that pinstriped blazer, her blonde hair floating about in loose waves. _You liked me so much, then. You knew it was only a one-time hookup but couldn’t help yourself from wishing it could be more, that you might see me again. Well, you got your wish…_

Eve only has so much willpower. And no one can see what’s going on inside her head, so if that’s what it’s going to take, maybe it’s time to lean in.

So she does, mentally and physically. She grinds harder against her hand as she lets herself slip into the fantasy. She’s back in the club with Villanelle. It’s the night they first met. Nothing stands between them. Literally nothing. Her body is pressed right up against Villanelle’s… the feel of sliding her hand down Villanelle’s back… Pull her closer as she grinds into her… She can almost taste Villanelle’s lips again…

She feels the heat build as she grows closer and closer to coming, then, eventually, clenches her hand and buries her face in the couch pillow. Sweet fucking release. She enjoys the moment for about a half second before the sound of footsteps at the door sets her on edge.

Furiously, Eve sits up, buttons her fly, resets the cushions, and tries to will away the flush that she can feel in her face, just as Bill enters the apartment.

“Hello!” she greets him, but in effort to sound normal, it comes out overly excited. “Wasn’t expecting you back.”

“My deskmate was being incredibly annoying so I decided to take a long lunch and come home and cook. I get it, Deborah, your daughter deserved to get into Brown. I know she got a thirty-three composite on the ACT. I know because you won’t stop telling me.” He puts down his keys and his briefcase, then takes a concerned look at Eve, still seated on the couch. “Were you masturbating?”

“How can you tell?” Eve shrieks.

“You’ve got sex hair,” Bill points. “And your zipper’s down. So unless you’ve got someone stashed away in a closet…”

“If only,” Eve mutters.

“No need to be embarrassed about it,” Bill says. “I sometimes need one on my lunch break, too.” He busies himself by taking ingredients out of the fridge, the makings of a sandwich.

Eve isn’t embarrassed to masturbate, not usually. But she still feels a burning cloud of shame. With a deep breath, she decides to confide in the one person it may be safe for her to be honest with at this point.

“Bill, I’ve got a problem.”

“I’ve heard the Hitachi Wand works wonders,” Bill calls out, with his mouth already full of some sandwich ingredient.

“Not that kind!” Eve snaps. “Sort of the opposite, actually.”

Bill turns to look at her with concern, a slice of bread in one hand and a bottle of mustard in the other.

“I…” Eve musters up the energy to say the words that she’s even had trouble admitting to herself. “I can’t stop thinking about Carolyn’s fiancée’s daughter.”

Bill furrows his brow, parsing the list of terms. “You want to boff your stepsister?”

“She’s not my stepsister _yet_ ,” Eve mutters.

“The one you were telling me about? The annoyingly perfect Russian?”

“Yeah. Speaks like a billion languages but she’s got the accent and all.”

“Get me a visual,” Bill says with a nod.

Eve doesn’t have any pictures of Villanelle herself, yet, so it takes her a few minutes to find her Facebook profile. Her profile picture is her standing on some balcony of a hotel with an incredible beach view, with a loose linen button down shirt, sunglasses perched atop her head, and her blonde hair spilling against sun-kissed skin.

Her finger hovers over the “Add Friend” button for a minute, unsure – then she decides she’ll deal with that debate later. She passes her phone to Bill for him to assess the picture.

“Wow,” Bill says, squinting for a closer look. “You have a chance with _that_ and you’re hesitating?”

“I kinda already had the chance,” Eve mumbles.

“Already?” Bill says, handing Eve her phone back. “Then what are you asking my advice for?”

“When I went out to the club that first night I got here, I met this woman. This attractive, forward, slightly annoying, but overall amazing woman. We hooked up a little. But then it turns out it’s _her_.”

“Ah,” Bill says. “Now that is a bit of a pickle.” He chuckles as he holds up the jar of pickles he's about to open and add to his sandwich.

“Obviously once we knew, we vowed to never talk about it again,” Eve says. “But now she’s texting me, and like, trying to be family and whatever, but I can’t deal. I don’t know how to be around her without…”

“Without jumping her bones?”

“What do I do?” Eve pleads. Bill has been around the block, he must have some advice for how to handle this admittedly strange situation.

“Let yourself,” Bill says.

“What?”

“She seems perfect for you.”

“You’re supposed to discourage me!” Eve says.

“Am I?” Bill puts the finishing touches on his sandwich, plates it, and sits at his kitchen table, facing Eve. 

“This is real life, Bill. I can’t go around ‘boffing’ my stepsister…”

“She’s not your stepsister _yet_ ,” Bill takes a hearty bite of his sandwich and smiles cheekily. “Besides, why not?”

“It’s freaky.”

“Listen,” Bill mutters as he chews, “I lived in Berlin for eight years, and what they get up to over there? Let’s just say your situation wouldn’t even register as ‘freaky’. I’ve done things myself that are ten times freakier.”

Eve sizes Bill up in a new light. “What did you _do_?”

Bill swallows, and ignores the question. “Two consenting adults? Who aren’t related by blood? And didn’t grow up together? You’d make a downright all-American couple.”

“You are not helpful at all.”

“You asked my opinion, and I don’t see a thing wrong with it.”

Eve curls her legs up onto the couch. “But Carolyn will.”

Bill gives a sly smile. “I thought you don’t care what she thinks.” As Eve confirms this with a sullen look, he continues, “All the more reason to go for it. Show her you really don’t care. Upstage her wedding.”

Eve considers this for a brief, thrilling moment. Then sanity takes over and she shakes her head to clear it. “No. That would be way too much drama. And I’m actually trying this new thing where I’m like, a good daughter.”

“Now _that’s_ freaky.” Bill pops the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and sticks his plate in the sink. 

“So what do I do?” Eve punches the pillow next to her in frustration.

“I can’t tell you what the right choice is here,” Bill says. “But I will share with you the wise words of Roxette: ‘Listen to your heart.’”

“Because it has a tendency to speak _so_ clearly,” Eve mutters.

“It will if you shut up, darling.” Bill grabs his briefcase and heads for the door. “I nearly forgot, I have something to tell you. There’s good news and bad news.”

“What is it?” Eve asks.

“Good news, I’m engaged.”

Eve’s heart leaps into her throat. She didn’t even realize Bill was in a serious relationship. Why is every single person in her life getting into a relationship, or getting married? “That’s great,” she manages through a forced smile. “Who’s the lucky person?”

“You know how I want a child, and I was discussing it with one of my colleagues, Keiko, and she wants one too, and we’ve always made a good team on work projects. So I asked her after the morning briefing and she said yes.”

“That’s wonderful,” Eve sighs, letting go of the tension inside her. “What’s the bad news?”

Bill’s lips tighten. “We decided it might be wise to cohabitate before making it official, so I need you to find someplace else to stay.”

Eve nods. Bill’s already offering to help her find another place, but she’s hardly paying attention to his varied suggestions, as she already knows the inevitability that awaits her.

It’s time to go back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatcha think?
> 
> no need to be hesitant like Eve, come be my friend on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo


	5. Everytime We Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolyn and Konstantin's engagement party finally arrives. Eve and Villanelle do their best to make the day special.

_“Forgive me my weakness, but I don’t know why._  
_Without you, it’s hard to survive.”_  
—Cascada

* * *

  
After much planning, the day of the much-anticipated engagement party has finally arrived, and Eve boards the T at eleven-thirty on Saturday morning to take the hour-long train ride out to the waterfront so she could help Villanelle set up before the arrival of the guests later that afternoon.

Villanelle picked the location, a hotel on the Boston waterfront. She immediately suggested it when she and Eve started planning the party, since she was staying there herself and found it to be up to her high standards of elegance. Eve tried not to think about how much the rooms must cost per night, let alone the event space rental, but as usual, Villanelle vowed to pay for all of it.

In the end, though Villanelle bankrolled the affair, Eve is proud of what she contributed to the event planning. Mainly, she consulted on what decorations or activities Carolyn would find absolutely repulsive, and which were likely to garner her modest approval. While Villanelle swiped her credit card, Eve provided such helpful facts like: Carolyn only likes chocolate cake when it’s paired with buttercream frosting. She can’t stand that plastic cutlery that’s designed to look like metal, because “it’s fooling no one”. By pooling their skillsets, they’ve ended up with a party that Eve anticipates will get a slight smile, and perhaps even a small verbal affirmation out of her mother, which is no mean feat.

The hotel is absolutely enormous, host to various conferences and events, and Eve is about to pull out her phone and text Villanelle, until she spots the woman herself across the gigantic lobby, waving at Eve from a hundred feet away.

She doesn’t stop waving for the thirty seconds it takes Eve to walk over. “Good to see you,” she greets Eve cheerfully. Absolutely no indication that she’s angry, annoyed, or even concerned about the fact that Eve hasn’t responded to any of her attempts at contact in the past week. Eve has sent no texts, no calls, nor any other method communication ever since they last saw each other at the ice cream shop, but you wouldn’t know it from the excited look on Villanelle’s face.

So Eve decides to play it off like nothing’s happened, too. “How’s it going?”

“I’ll show you the room we’ve got,” Villanelle says, and turns to lead the way at a rather brisk pace. Eve has to hurry to keep up.

It isn’t a long journey, though, as they end up in a stylish conference room that still has a direct view of the reception desk out the door. One long table holds the beverages (alcoholic and otherwise), another with the cake still covered in plastic, and assorted appetizers, and next to them, the bags of decorations sit gathered together on the floor. 

“Nice,” Eve says, surveying the room.

“It will look better once we set everything up,” Villanelle says, and bends down to fish out a packet of balloons from one of the bags. She empties them onto one of the tables, and both her and Eve begin blowing up balloons. 

Eve is glad that they can’t talk while they work, since the balloons keep their mouths occupied. It spares her from having to figure out how to keep pretending like she hasn’t been an asshole and a half to Villanelle over the past week. 

The room grows more festive with thirty-odd gold and silver balloons floating about. As the last uninflated balloon sits on the table, both Eve and Villanelle reach for it at the same time, and their hands collide.

“I’m sorry,” Eve gushes reflexively, drawing her hand away.

“It’s only a balloon,” Villanelle says, and gestures for Eve to take it.

“No,” Eve says, and before she knows it, the rest comes flooding out of her. “I’m sorry for uh… for everything, really. For leading you on right after we met, then for pushing you away, and I’m sorry for ghosting you the past week.” 

Seeing that Eve has given up on the last balloon, Villanelle reaches to grab it. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she murmurs as she stretches the rubber between her fingers.

“I don’t know how to deal with these feelings,” Eve says, carefully. Villanelle gives no response and begins blowing up the final balloon. “Before you ask, no, I’m not in therapy, and yeah, I probably should be. But for now, I have to deal on my own. And my way of dealing is to push it down and step on it.” She sighs. “Full disclosure. Now you know.”

Villanelle gasps for air, having emptied the entire contents of her lungs into the last balloon, which is now inflated to its absolute capacity. She deftly ties it off, then says quietly, “I have feelings, too.”

“I know,” Eve says. “I know.”

They avoid the topic for the rest of the set-up process. Thankfully, it isn’t long before they’re joined by a couple members of the hotel staff that Villanelle hired to help tend bar and refill the appetizers as necessary, and they serve as a buffer to keep all conversation light and setup-related.

Villanelle goes over to give the bartender intense instruction on the signature cocktail she devised for the occasion. She calls it the “Happy Family”, which to Eve sounds more like a platter special you’d order at a Chinese restaurant, but Villanelle takes it so seriously that Eve doesn’t dare voice her opinion. Eve busies herself setting out the paper goods, so she misses the finer details of the recipe, but she surmises that it has a lot of gin and about five kinds of fruit juice in it, among other things.

Finally, two o’clock rolls around, and guests start arriving. The guests of honor arrive first, walking hand in hand, with Irina in tow. 

“Congratulations!” Villanelle greets them, as effusive as if she just learned of their engagement for the first time. “How are you?”

“We had a wonderful morning walking along the harborside,” Konstantin says. “It is beautiful out. And look at what you’ve done…” He pauses to take in the room, the decorations, the food.

“Lovely job, Villanelle,” Carolyn says. “Hello, Eve.”

“Congratulations,” Eve says, mustering all the enthusiasm she can, but not coming close to Villanelle’s level.

Then, blissfully, the parents become distracted by the arrival of Kenny, and – Eve also lights up when she sees that he’s brought his girlfriend along.

“Everyone, this is Elena.” Kenny says. “Elena, this is...” He hesitates, obviously caught up on what order to introduce the family.

“A big happy family,” Elena says with a huge grin, smoothing the awkwardness.

“Exactly! Who wants to try one?” Villanelle says, and suddenly, she’s got one of the pre-poured “Happy Family” cocktails and has delivered it right to Elena’s hand.

Soon, the drinks are flowing (they even made a virgin cocktail for Irina), mellow romantic music is playing, and the rest of the guests have arrived, filling the room with a comfortable level of chatter. 

Eve desperately wants to get to know Elena, but the parents have had her locked down ever since she and Kenny walked in. Eve decides to let them have the moment (it’s their party, after all), and demand a separate outing with her and Kenny another time. She can be a nice supportive daughter _some_ of the time, at least.

She felt a similar excitement when Bill appeared, him being her one safe friend she has in common with Carolyn, the one person she knew she could count on clinging to at this party, but he, too, betrays her. 

She’s in the midst of catching up with him about his businesslike engagement negotiations with Keiko, when Irina comes over.

“Bill?” She says. “Carolyn was telling me you used to be part of British Intelligence with her. She said you were a field agent and you’d go kill terrorists.”

“Not sure I ever killed a terrorist,” Bill chuckles. “Hyperbole. I might’ve irked a few felons, at best.”

“Did you get special weapons?” Irina asks. “Did you get get abducted? Stranded in a killer’s hideout?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Bill replies, then pauses and asks very seriously. “Want to hear about the time I got stabbed by a psycho in a nightclub?”

Irina’s face lights up, and like that, Bill is gone.

Eve is left to drift through other people’s conversations alone, until somehow, she ends up next to the only other person not clumped up: Villanelle. And Villanelle seems to have been expecting her, because she has two “Happy Families” all ready to go, and offers one to Eve. Eve takes a sip – it tastes like a lemon-filled bottle rocket full of gin got blasted into the sun.

They sip, and regard each other silently, while they survey the happy chatter of the other guests from a distance. “We did good, huh?” Eve says.

“Eve,” Villanelle shoots Eve a disapproving look. “We did _well_.” Then she smiles, and it’s unfair how that smile makes Eve melt inside. “We make a good team,” she adds. “Especially when you talk to me.”

“Right,” Eve says.

“I know you have this complex about your family, but you don’t need to hide from me, Eve. I won’t judge you. From now on, I want you to tell me whatever is on your mind, okay?” She reaches out a hand and squeezes Eve gently on the upper arm. Her touch sends a shockwave through Eve.

“What I’m thinking now is…” Eve holds her breath as she takes the plunge… “I haven’t seen your room yet.”

“I don’t have a room here anymore,” Villanelle answers automatically, with a sip of her drink.

“Oh, I thought…”

“You thought I was going to live in a hotel for three months? I found a nice sublet in Beacon Hill and moved in last week,” Villanelle explains. “You’d know that if you talked to me.”

“Of _course_ you have an apartment in Boston before I do,” Eve groans to herself.

Villanelle looks at her quizzically. “I thought you were staying with your friend…”

“I was, I mean, I am, but I’m officially overstaying my welcome since he’s gotten engaged, so I need to find…”

“Do you need a place to stay?” Villanelle offers. “Is that why you were asking about my room?”

“No, I have a plan, I’m fine.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eve avoids Villanelle’s gaze, finding an interesting leaf on the potted plant next to her to stare at instead. Her face feels hot. How utterly pathetic, how humiliating, how–

“I could go get another room right now,” Villanelle says, casually.

Eve dares to look back at Villanelle, whose eyes are wide and innocent, waiting for Eve’s approval. 

“Text me the number in ten minutes,” Eve commands.

Villanelle is gone in a blink.

Eve waits impatiently for the minutes to tick down. She tries to limit her glances over to Villanelle at the reception desk, so as not to call attention to it, but it doesn’t matter much since no one else at the party is paying close attention to Eve, anyway. She usually finds it so infuriating when Villanelle whips out that black credit card, but now, the thought that Villanelle is happy to throw down over a hundred dollars on a moments notice is fanning the flame inside Eve.

She watches from a distance as the family slices and serves the cake. Konstantin gets a piece on a fork and guides it into Carolyn’s mouth. Kenny captures the moment with his phone, then shows them. Everyone laughs. Wonderful.

Finally, she feels a buzz in her pocket, and pulls out her phone. 

_Room 1112. Don’t leave me hanging_

Eve is halfway to the elevator before she finishes reading the message.

Even with the state of the art elevators, it seems to take an hour to tick through all the floors. Two… Three… Stop. Doors open, an older man in a green cardigan gets on. Four… Five… The man turns to Eve, smiling. She tries to smile back in a normal fashion.

Six… Seven… Another stop. A woman pushing an empty stroller. “Going down?”

“Up,” Eve says, curtly.

“That’s alright, I don’t mind waiting for it to turn around,” the woman sighs, pushing her stroller inside. The door close again.

Eight… Nine… Eve takes a moment to feel gratitude that she doesn’t have a penis; if she did, it would be painfully obvious to the entire elevator how horny she is at the moment.

The old man gets off at the tenth floor. Then, right as Eve feels like she might combust if she has to wait a second longer, the doors open to the eleventh floor. 

She flies down the hallway, searching for the right number. 

When she spots the door marked 1112, she pulls her hand back, ready to knock furiously, but before she can strike, it swings open, and Villanelle is there.

Their mouths are already locked as Eve stumbles into the room, kicking wildly with her leg to close the door behind her.

“I’ve tried to do the right thing, I really have,” Eve gasps, in between kisses.

Villanelle lets her rant, moving her kisses to Eve’s neck to better facilitate breathing.

“But maybe it’s time to admit that I am just not a good person? That I will never be attracted to the right person? I mean, Niko was the ‘right’ person on paper, and I just could not bring myself to care about him. Then, lo and behold, I can’t get my goddamn stepsister out of my head.”

Villanelle stops, and looks up at Eve, “Future stepsister.” Then she resumes sucking on Eve’s neck.

“Am I broken?” Eve says, then laughs, “No, I know I’m broken. What I mean to ask is, what part of me is it that’s broken, exactly? Where is the glitch in my system? Is it my head, my heart, my pussy? All of the above?”

Villanelle slows, and looks at Eve with genuine concern. “How many of those drinks did you have? If I am taking advantage of you, I at least want to be aware of it.”

“There’s something seriously wrong in one or more of those parts of me,” Eve babbles, “because even though there’s a thousand and one reasons I shouldn’t, I still want to…”

She locks eyes with Villanelle. This is the moment. They’re more connected than they’ve ever been; they’re mirroring each other, each with one hand on the back of the other’s neck. Staring into each other’s eyes. There’s no more need for words; they both know this time will be different than the last.

They’ve both been waiting for this moment since they first met, Eve realizes. There’s never been any real doubt; they knew it would come eventually. Ever since their electric chemistry, in the club – and really, it was a wonder they hadn’t made their way to sex that night – it seemed a physical inevitability that once they had tasted each other, they’d be waking up next to each other eventually. 

They tear off their clothes with the haste of starved lions finally pouncing on a scrap of meat. Eve undoes only half of her buttons then gives up and wrenches her shirt over her head, while Villanelle is busy unzipping Eve’s fly, and soon Eve feels the chill touch of her fingers.

Eve throws herself forward, forcing Villanelle to lie back on the bed, and leans over, propping herself up with arms on either side of Villanelle, then dipping down to kiss Villanelle more and more, keeping her face occupied while Villanelle tries to shimmy out of her pants at the same time.

It’s not easy, but she disrobes without ever breaking contact with Eve. Eve sees no reason to wait any longer, and spreads Villanelle’s legs open, kneeling in front of her on the bed, and bends down to bury her face in Villanelle’s pussy.

Eve’s mind goes blank, and her language center shuts down; her inner monologue reverts to some pre-language method of thought where she can only conceive of concepts, of feelings. Warm. Wet. Tingly? Nice. More? Over here? Good.

Though her sense of time has abandoned her, it feels like hardly seconds have passed when she hears Villanelle’s moans reach a peak and her thighs tremble around Eve, then relax. 

“You’re good at that,” Villanelle sighs. She lies still and breathes deeply for a few seconds, then sits up at attention, a determined light in her eyes.

Villanelle helps Eve further onto the bed, then unhooks Eve’s bra and tosses it on the floor. One hand sneaks below Eve’s belt, while the other caresses her breasts. She bends to let her lips dance along the other, both her hands and mouth working in perfect synchronicity. 

It’s absolutely incredible. But unfortunately, in spite of the handy distraction Villanelle offers, words are starting to come back to Eve’s brain, and form thoughts; anxious thoughts that bounce around her head, and she knows it isn’t sexy but she just has to say them out loud or they’ll make her head explode.

“The family can’t know,” Eve gasps, trying to control her voice despite what Villanelle is doing to her. “We have to keep this under lock and key.”

Villanelle pauses to give a withering look. “Eve, we are all adults here.”

“It’s hard to take that seriously when you have your hand in my pants.”

Eve barely manages to get the last few words out, as Villanelle’s action on her clit combined with her other hand on Eve’s nipple sends her into orgasm.

Eve can see that Villanelle is proud of her work, as she withdraws, kisses Eve once more, and then leans to lie back on the bed. Eve also lies, turning on her side to face Villanelle. They look at each other for a moment, silently.

Finally, Villanelle says, “Are you ashamed of me?”

Eve wants to say “No”, but didn’t she promise to be honest with Villanelle only a half hour ago? So she says, “In a vacuum, I wouldn’t be. But unless you wanna murder our families and run off to Alaska together, I need this to stay between us.”

“That plan doesn’t sound so bad,” Villanelle says with a mischievous grin.

“I can’t give Carolyn any extra ammo to shame me with,” Eve says. “I get enough passive aggressive remarks about being single as it is, but this might be the only thing that’s worse in her opinion.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Villanelle says, nodding slightly. “My father wouldn’t be very happy about this, either.”

“Yeah,” Eve says. “Spare Konstantin the thought of the soon to be stepdaughters getting it on.”

“He wouldn’t care about that,” Villanelle laughs. “He has enough brains to understand we are two adults who aren’t related and we can do what we like. He would not approve of you.”

“Excuse me?” Eve shoots up.

“No offense, Eve, but you are unemployed and homeless at thirty-seven.”

“Thirty six!” Eve squeals. “Until next month.”

Villanelle slowly props herself up to a sitting position, and reaches out to tuck one of Eve’s stray curls back. “Of course _I_ like you anyway, but you know how dads are.”

“I don’t, actually,” Eve mutters.

“He thinks I need someone to take care of me,” Villanelle says. “Even though I already make more money than he does…”

“What do I have to do to be good enough for him?” Eve demands. “Do I have to be a rich and fancy day trader like you?”

Villanelle wrinkles her brow, thinking. “It’s less about what you do, and more about how you feel about it. Finding what you are excellent at and passionate about. Take Irina for instance. He exposes her to every kind of education he can, and he wants her to try everything in college until she finds the thing she is meant to do. He will be happy if she ends up as a chef, a politician, a teacher, an assassin…”

“An assassin?” Eve laughs.

“If that is what she wanted,” Villanelle says, without a trace of irony. “He’d help her become the best assassin the world has ever seen.”

Eve searches Villanelle’s face, looking for any trace that she’s joking. “Your family’s weird.”

“We support each other!” 

“Exactly.”

Villanelle blinks and bites her lip. “We are really doing this, huh?”

“I’m game if you are,” Eve says. “Dirty little secret?” 

She holds out her hand for Villanelle to shake. Villanelle takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised it wouldn't be a slow burn :)
> 
> what do ya think?
> 
> comment or socialize with me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxoxo


	6. Dirty Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve finally gets her chance to get to know Elena, but Villanelle tags along, and it turns out that Eve's the one who has the most secrets spilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't write a story set in Boston and NOT use this song!

  
_“Frustrated women have to be in by twelve o’clock._  
 _But I’m wishin’ and a-hopin’ that just once those doors weren’t locked._  
 _(I like to keep time for my baby to come around.)”_  
—The Standells

* * *

  
Eve digs through her purse, past chapstick and tampons and candy wrappers until she finds the old, tarnished key she hasn’t used in years. It slips into the lock, and turns easily.

She’s home.

She’s been here a few times over the years, of course, to visit, but it isn’t the same. This is a different sort of homecoming, one that she’s put off as long as possible.

The house is quiet as she enters, and she quickly surmises from the fact that Carolyn’s car is not in the driveway that she and Konstantin must be out. Just as well.

Eve hasn’t lived in this house for more than a brief stay since halfway through her senior year of high school. After that, Bill had graciously agreed to let her stay with him the first time to finish out her year when Carolyn moved to the UK. Then she’d gone to college, then Toronto, Chicago, LA… 

All that to say, it’s weird to be back.

Especially because now there’s a stranger who’s lived in the house longer than Eve has, making her seem like a new guest by comparison.

 _No,_ she chides herself, _Konstantin is not a stranger – he’s almost your stepfather._ But that was the wrong way to phrase it to herself, since that word triggers Eve’s gag reflex…

He’s Carolyn’s… “friendly companion”? Someone who keeps her occupied, and generally happier so she’s less difficult to be around. And isn’t that a great service he’s providing? Eve ought to thank him.

She brings her suitcase upstairs to the “guest room”, which decades ago, was once known as Eve’s bedroom, and now will be hers once again for the first time in almost nineteen years. 

It was stripped of all traces of Eve’s presence, of course, when the family moved out and Carolyn put the house up for rent. Her twin bed frame is still there, but with more sensible adult sheets on it, not the starry print that had last adorned it when she was a teenager. The walls are bare, except for a couple of inoffensive landscape watercolors; the bookshelves have been stripped of Eve’s crime thrillers, nonfiction psychology books and occasional vampire fantasy series, replaced with easy beach reads and some framed family photos. 

This won’t do.

Before so much as unzipping her suitcase, Eve storms out of the bedroom and pulls down the dusty ladder from the trapdoor in the ceiling, preparing herself to brave the unfinished fiberglass-filled attic. After fumbling around in the half-light, she finds a few boxes in the corner labeled “EVE”, and carts them down one by one.

The cardboard boxes reveal a treasure trove of the late nineties, a blast through Eve’s past. A RoseArt kit of shitty drawing and craft supplies Eve had used during her brief artistic phase. A couple trophies from regional debate championships. A photo album with Mickey Mouse on the cover, which holds a few Polaroids of the rare happy family moments: Eve blowing out the candles on her tenth birthday. Teenaged Eve next to toddler Kenny who had just learned to walk. Carolyn, Eve, and Kenny on vacation in the Berkshires. 

And of course, the most important artifact of all: Eve pulls out the long paper scroll and chuckles, because she already knows what it is before she pulls off the elastic. She unrolls it to reveal her much-coveted poster of Buffy Summers. Eve had spent many nights in high school staring up at that poster where it was proudly displayed over her bed. She owes her bisexual awakening to that three-foot-long rendering of Sarah Michelle Gellar.

Eve’s smiling down at the poster and feeling the warm fuzzy nostalgia rush back to her when she hears a _tap tap tap_ and looks up to see Kenny standing at the entrance to her room, knocking against the doorframe. 

“Hey, bro,” Eve says, with a grin.

“Redecorating?”

“Have to restore this room to its former glory,” Eve says. “Can you even remember the last time we lived here, I mean, you and me, together?”

“Bits,” Kenny says, with a sly smirk. He was hardly five years old the last time Eve had lived there. “I remember coming in here to explore, and you screaming for Mum when I tore into your things.”

“That was how most days went, yup,” Eve laughs. 

“Anyways…” Kenny says tentatively. “I have a question for you.”

“Fire away.”

“Not so much a question, really, as a development,” Kenny says. “Villanelle will be joining us today.”

“What?” Eve snaps.

“I said, don’t be mad…”

“Kenny!” Eve whines. “Today is _my_ day to get to know Elena. I booked it specially.”

“Yes, she’s not a study room though, she’s a person.”

“I was patient!” Eve says. “I let the parents have their turn with Elena first, so that I could get to know her later. And now you’ve been whoring her out behind my back?”

Kenny blinks three times, which is the closest he ever gets to rolling his eyes. “Villanelle texted me this morning. Asking if I’d like to spend some time together. What am I supposed to do, tell her to sod off?”

“Yes!”

“I thought it might be fun,” Kenny says, “For all of us older children to hang out without the parents, and Irina, I mean, she’s cool but, she’s young.”

“Can I take a rain check?” Eve moans.

“You don’t still have that weird complex about Villanelle?” Kenny asks. “At the party it looked like you were finally getting along.”

“We’re fine,” Eve says hastily. “It’s just… I thought this was gonna be _my_ time.”

“It still is,” Kenny says. “But Villanelle will also be there.” 

Eve throws a pillow at Kenny. Sometimes he can be so blunt, he shows Carolyn’s influence on him.

“There's plenty of Elena to go around,” Kenny says. “She handled the parents quite well; she can definitely handle you and Villanelle.”

Eve has no choice but to stuff her complaints down. She can’t very well admit to the real reason she doesn’t want Villanelle to come with them: for every moment they’re together, Eve risks losing self control and slipping up, forgetting to keep their secret hookups a secret. 

Not to mention that even if Eve is able to control her own impulses, she also has to worry about Villanelle’s… and the more Eve gets to know Villanelle, the more she realizes that the woman seems to have no inhibitions whatsoever. No sense of guilt or shame. Eve is almost jealous of that, but not quite: she knows shame can be useful. For example, when trying to keep risky business a secret from one’s family. Shame is a very useful tool, in this scenario. It would help if Villanelle felt even the tiniest bit of it.

  
An hour later, Eve’s in the backseat of Kenny’s car as they stop to pick up Elena. 

“Eve!” Elena greets her with enthusiasm, like they’re old friends already. “I can’t say how great it is to finally meet you. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to exchange more than two words.”

“Thank God,” Eve laughs. “I thought I was gonna be a creep all afternoon fawning over you. Good to know the fascination is mutual.”

“Kenny’s said so much,” Elena says as she buckles her seatbelt. “I can’t wait to find out if all the stories are true.”

“Stories?” Eve says with an upturn of interest. “What have you been telling her?”

“I think we’d better go on so Villanelle isn’t waiting too long,” Kenny says, diplomatically, and gets them back on the road.

“I hope you don’t mind my choice of outing,” Elena says to Eve. “This is such a tourist thing, isn’t it? You must’ve gone a million times. But I’ve never been in a kayak, so…”

“Never?” Eve asks.

“Nope,” Elena replies. “But I figure if this one likes it,” she reaches over to pluck at Kenny’s arm affectionately, “it must be fun. He’s not one for sports, much. Anything outdoors for that matter.”

“Hey,” Kenny says, indignantly. “I bike.”

A few minutes later, after some small talk that flows easily since Elena and Eve learn they have much in common – restlessness, dislike for staying in one place, and a possibly unhealthy interest in criminal psychology, to start – they arrive at the boat rental building, where Villanelle is already waiting for them out front.

They’re greeted by a large assortment of choices when they enter. Eve has been kayaking a few times before, but she doesn’t remember so many options. Single or double kayak, or a canoe for that matter. Paddle-boats too, which could hold all four of them, but Elena is attached to the kayak idea, so that’s what they all choose. Kenny suggests a two-person boat for him and Elena, but Eve and Villanelle each get their own, and soon they’re suiting up in life jackets and being led down to the edge of the docks to push off.

“Kayaking on the Charles,” Elena sighs. “A Boston essential. Thanks for indulging me, everyone.”

“Thank you,” Villanelle insists. “I’ve been on many rivers of the world, but it’s a pleasure to add another to list.”

Eve rolls her eyes at the not-so-subtle humblebrag, then playfully cautions, “Be careful not to fall in.”

They set off along the river, paddling with the current, running their kayaks roughly in parallel. Early in the season as it is, with a mild but undeniable wind chill, there aren’t a great deal of other people boating today, so there’s plenty of room for them to cut through the water as they please.

Villanelle takes full advantage of the space, doing donuts, intentionally getting into Eve’s way, and repeatedly begging to “race”.

The fourth time that Villanelle paddles ahead of Eve and cuts off her path in a perpendicular fashion, guffawing childishly all the while, Eve loses her patience. “If you don’t stop, I’ll crash into you.”

Villanelle doesn’t take this threat seriously, instead sticking out her tongue at Eve. Eve glances ahead, sees that Kenny and Elena have made their way farther down the river as Kenny points at some of the nearby scenery, so if Eve responds with a childish move of her own, she won’t be witnessed.

Eve dips her paddles into the water furiously, building up speed and heading directly for Villanelle’s kayak. Although she sat through the same safety intro from the rental clerk that all of them did, she feels alright disregarding the most basic rule, since she intends no harm. She means to ram into Villanelle gently, rock the boat and spook her and nothing more. 

And that’s what would’ve happened, if at the same time, Villanelle had not stood up inside the boat, shouting, “I am the King of the Charles!” Though, it comes out more as “King of the _Chaaaaaaah!_ ” as Eve crashes into the boat and makes Villanelle lose her balance, flopping into the river.

“Shit!” Eve gasps. “Villanelle, are you okay?”

Villanelle bobs up, with her life jacket, head still dry, laughing her ass off, having a grand old time.

No harm done, at least, but Eve still feels bad. She paddles over close to where Villanelle is floating, then reaches out a hand to try to help her onto the boat. However, when Villanelle grasps Eve’s hand with her wet fingers, Eve instead feels a lurch forward as her center of gravity shifts, and Villanelle yanks Eve into the water with her.

Eve plunges fully into the water, which is freezing compared to the crisp spring air. And brown. And murky. She kicks her legs and surfaces, spitting and sputtering. Villanelle is laughing.

“You idiot!” Eve says. “I was trying to help you!”

“Relax, Eve,” Villanelle says. “Don’t you like to swim?”

“Not in my clothes!” Eve says. “And not in the Charles!”

Villanelle looks at her, quizzically. 

“Weren’t you listening to the guide?” Eve says, but even before the question is out of her mouth, she’s already guessed the answer, so she continues, “This river is so polluted, it was illegal to swim in it until a few years ago. You still need a special permit.”

“Are you saying if we stay in here, that we will grow two heads?”

“Maybe some extra toes,” Eve says. “Come on, back in the boats.” As she turns around in the water, she makes a point to “accidentally” kick up a huge splash with her feet that catches Villanelle in the face.

“Hey!” Villanelle screams as she spits out water.

“I refuse to be the only one with wet hair,” Eve laughs as she grabs the edge of her kayak and kicks hard with her legs to climb back over the edge. 

Just as Villanelle is scrambling back into her own boat, Eve spots Kenny and Elena who have turned around. “What happened?” Kenny calls out.

“Went for a quick dip in the Charles,” Eve says. “We’re alright. But I would like to go change my clothes, soon.”

  
Several minutes later, they’ve returned the boats, endured the disapproving glare from the rental worker who reminds them swimming is prohibited, and explained that it was purely and completely accidental, then, the four of them stand in a loose group, figuring out what to do next.

“Should we call off lunch?” Kenny says.

“No!” Eve says, fierce. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“You’re shivering,” Kenny points out. 

But Villanelle is also adamant, though her teeth chatter as well. “I’ll take Eve with me to go get a change of clothes, and we can meet you in thirty minutes. Forty-five, at the most.”

Soon, Eve is climbing into the passenger seat of Villanelle’s fancy rental car. Teeth still chattering as she buckles her seatbelt, she watches as Villanelle starts the car.

“That was fun,” Villanelle says.

“Sure,” Eve growls.

“Someone is grumpy,” Villanelle mutters, as she reverses the car out of the parking spot. “Let’s warm up.” She reaches for the dial to turn the heat up to max.

Eve doesn’t say much while they drive, until she notices that Villanelle passed the exit to get back to the house, and is instead following the route to their lunch spot. “Hey, wait, I need to get clothes–”

“I know,” Villanelle says, with a sly smile. Eve doesn’t even bother asking more, because she can tell Villanelle will just be coy. But it isn’t long before she puts together where they’re headed, and realizes that Villanelle is taking them to the mall across the street from the agreed-upon restaurant. Exactly the sort of frivolous, indulgent move she should’ve expected from Villanelle.

They park, and Eve instinctively starts making her way towards Target, before she feels the tug of Villanelle literally grabbing her by the back of her soggy sweater and pulling her back. “ _Eve,_ ” Villanelle says, in her tired, withering way. Then, she takes Eve by the hand, and starts pulling her in the other direction, towards Nordstrom.

“There’s no point in me arguing with you, is there?” Eve says.

“No,” Villanelle replies, her chirpy tone echoed by the electronic chirp as she hits the lock button on her car keys. The corners of her mouth twitch, like she’s trying her hardest to keep from smirking.

“Was this the plan all along?” Eve demands. “Did you pull me in the water just so you could buy me expensive clothes?”

“I would never do something so ridiculous,” Villanelle says. “I know you hate when I spend money on you.”

 _I hate when you spend money,_ Eve wants to clarify. _Not so much when you spend it on me._ But she’s already embarrassed by simply thinking that, and would never in a million years voice the thought.

As the approach the entrance to Nordstrom, Villanelle pulls Eve close. “Now, splitting up with them, that was on purpose.” She leans down towards Eve’s face. “So I could do this.”

“I really don’t think–” Eve mutters, dodging away from Villanelle’s kiss.

“What?” Villanelle says, as she halts only an inch from Eve’s lips. “Because we’re in public? No one we know is here.”

“That’s not–” But Eve’s words are cut off by Villanelle’s lips against hers, and sure, it’s nice for an instant, but then…

Villanelle realizes it too, and pulls away, gagging, and wiping her mouth with her fingers. “That’s disgusting!”

“I was going to say,” Eve laughs. “We should wait until after a shower. It’s that dirty water.”

  
After a whirlwind shopping trip, where Eve found the first slacks-cardigan combo that made her feel remotely comfortable, and Villanelle somehow came out with three bags full of clothes by the time Eve finally managed to pry her away from the shopping racks, they’re on their way to meet Kenny and Elena.

They reach the restaurant, and Eve takes a minute of peeking in the car mirror and fluffing at her hair, which is in the midst of drying unevenly, then sighs and fishes in her bag for the hair clip she knows is in there.

But when she finds it, Villanelle’s hand catches her wrist before she can pull her hair back. “No fair,” Villanelle says. “If I have to go in there with wet hair down, so do you.”

They get out of the car, and Eve has to marvel again at Villanelle in a white scoop neck sheath dress with matching sandals. Even though it’s an ass-kicking, extremely flattering outfit, Eve can’t help but think that it’s really more of a summer look, and Villanelle must be really cold. 

Despite the light goosebumps dappling her arms, and her wet hair falling in waves to her shoulders, she’s radiant. Somehow her disheveled, water-darkened blonde hair makes Villanelle ten times more attractive to Eve in that moment. The only things keeping Eve from jumping Villanelle right then and there were that Kenny might be able to see them through the window, and also, despite the new outfits, they’re still both covered in traces of polluted river water.

 _Patience,_ Eve tells herself. There will be time later. They’ll both need a shower, after all…

“Remember to act normal,” Eve says as they enter the restaurant. “As far as Kenny knows, we’re still on kind of shaky terms, and we don’t want to cause any suspicion…”

But as she finishes the thought, they spot Kenny and Elena seated in a booth in the corner, who greet them excitedly. “Hope you don’t mind that we got started on the bread,” Kenny says, pointing to the basket of fresh bread and olive oil on the table.

“Of course not,” Villanelle says, but grabs one of the rolls for herself and tears a bite out of it before even sitting down. 

“I can’t believe that you still wanted to come for lunch after being doused in one of the dirtiest rivers in the country,” Elena says. “I have to say, I’m flattered.”

“Anything to get more time to hang out with you,” Eve says, reaching for a roll herself. As she leans forward, one of her wet curls escapes from where it was tucked behind her ear and swings forward, but before Eve can do anything, Villanelle’s fingers are there, already tucking the curl back.

Eve smiles up at Villanelle, murmurs a barely audible, “Thanks,” as she stuffs the bread into her mouth, then glances up again to see both Kenny and Elena clearly noticed that small gesture of intimacy.

“If I didn’t know better,” Elena laughs, “I’d think you two were girlfriends!”

Eve freezes, mouth full of half-chewed bread, which seems to have transformed into wet cement in her mouth. She can’t chew, can’t speak, can’t swallow or she’d choke. Maybe she _should_ try to choke; that’d distract from the awkward moment, and by the time someone was finished giving her the Heimlich, they’d all have forgotten about it.

Villanelle senses Eve’s distress, and then she’s rubbing Eve’s back. Rubbing her back! Like that’s going to help! _No, Villanelle,_ Eve wants to say, _I’m not choking, I’m freaked out because she’s just seen that there’s something illicit between us, and now you’re only adding fuel to that fire!_

But she can’t. Her mouth is full of bread.

Then Villanelle breaks the silence with that pealing laugh of hers. “We’ve all grown close very fast. We have a lot of years to make up for, you see, if we are to be a family.”

“That’s new,” Kenny comments.

“Planning that party together was all it took,” Villanelle says, rubbing Eve’s shoulder roughly then turning her attention to the menu on the table.

Eve finally has the wherewithal to swallow, then adds, “We, uh, make a good team.”

“That party was brilliant, you two,” Elena says. “Those cocktails got me a bit loose. But just the right amount for meeting the boyfriend’s parents.”

“Thanks,” Eve says, answering on behalf of Villanelle, who is absolutely enraptured by the pictures of pasta in the menu, and looks like she will be occupied for some time.

“Even Mum liked it,” Kenny says.

“She was still cold as hell to me…” Eve mutters.

“Don’t act like you don’t know _why,_ though,” Kenny chuckles.

“Why, what?” Villanelle’s head snaps up at attention, pulled out of her food-based hypnosis by Kenny’s knowing tone, the scent of a secret to be revealed.

“Kenny,” Eve cautions.

“What happened?” Elena adds, resting her elbows on the table eagerly.

Kenny inhales deeply. Rarely does he have this much of a captive audience, waiting to hear what he has to say. “Eve has driven away every man our Mum ever dated.”

“That’s not true,” Eve protests.

“With her moodiness…”

“Teenage hormones.”

“And her constant pushing them away…”

“You try dealing with a bunch of strangers saying they’re your new dad!” Eve sputters. 

“But all that, I think, Mum could’ve understood, and given the circumstances might’ve forgiven,” Kenny says solemnly. 

“As if she’s ever been the forgiving type,” Eve mutters.

“All except Raymond.”

Eve’s stomach lurches. She did not plan for Kenny to tell this story today.

“Who's _Raymond?_ ” Elena and Villanelle demand in unison.

“The other guy who came closest to being our stepdad,” Kenny explains.

The dam is broken; there’s no stopping him now. Should Eve get up and leave? No, as much as she wants to melt into the floor right now, or jump out a window, it’s better if she knows exactly what Kenny reveals. So she covers her mouth with her hands and bites her tongue.

Although Kenny usually hates attention, he seems to be reveling in the undivided attention from Elena and Villanelle as he launches into the story. “When I was ten and Eve was twenty-three, Carolyn started seeing this man called Raymond. He was former intelligence too, then went into the private sector, but they had a lot in common. They were engaged after six months or so, and seemed quite happy. Seemed like she was really going to go through with it, this time. Tie the knot for the first time,” Kenny says. 

His two audience members nod excitedly for him to go on.

“But then when Eve came over the UK to meet him for the first time, she was totally sour to him. Wouldn’t speak directly to him. Answered all his questions with one word. Really teenage stuff, not what you’d expect from a college grad.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Eve blurts, unable to contain herself. “You were only a kid. You’re misremembering.”

“Maybe so,” Kenny says, then raises an eyebrow. “But I definitely remember what happened next.” He takes a deep breath again. “Carolyn told her to make an effort.”

“So I did,” Eve cries, a little too loud, causing a few fellow diners to turn their heads. Eve’s face grows hot, and she buries her head in her hands.

“What happened?” Elena prods. 

“We rented a cabin in the country and went up there for a week, for some family bonding. Seemed like things were going a little better, maybe, I mean, still a crazy amount of tension, but at least they were exchanging full sentences. And then one day, Raymond said he’d take Eve with him to go get some firewood.”

“And?” Eve hears Villanelle’s voice. She doesn’t lift her head from her hiding spot.

“And they were chopping,” Kenny begins. “And he showed her how to use the axe. And he was holding the log for her…”

“And?!” Elena’s voice this time, practically squealing with anticipation.

Kenny’s face is beet red as he finally blurts, “She chopped his pinky off.”

Elena screams in horror. Villanelle screams in delight.

“It was an accident!” Eve protests, whipping her head up. 

“Funny thing,” Kenny says, going pink himself as he tries to contain his laughter. “Raymond didn’t seem to believe that.”

“I didn’t _kill_ him or anything!” Eve says. “He was fine!”

“We grabbed the finger and went to the hospital, but since we were out in the woods…” Kenny says, “By the time we got there, it was too late for them to reattach it. And then, Raymond asked Mum for the engagement ring back, right there in the emergency room.”

Eve can’t help it. She covers her eyes again. She feels that childlike instinct: _if I can’t see anyone else, they can’t see me. I am invisible._ She wishes it were true.

“Wow,” Villanelle pronounces, slowly, and Eve peeks out to get a look at her reaction. “This whole time you pretended like Carolyn hates you for no reason…” Villanelle snorts. “You said you didn’t want a dad, but I didn’t know you’d go that far!”

“Oh no,” Elena says, clutching Kenny’s hand suddenly. “What’s in store for poor Konstantin?”

“Yeah, what is in store, Eve?” Villanelle says, poking Eve in the shoulder. “Going to cut the entire hand off this time?”

“Nothing!” Eve shrieks. “I’m happy for them!”

“Sure,” says Kenny.

“Sure,” says Villanelle.

“Sure,” says Elena.

“Where’s our goddamn waitress?” Eve grumbles. “I want to order some spaghetti. And tequila.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys didn't really think Carolyn acts so cold towards Eve for no reason, did you? ;)
> 
> hope you like... let me know your thoughts
> 
> and help me get my necessary social interaction on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo


	7. Just Can't Get Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their unfortunate dip in the dirty waters of the Charles River, Eve and Villanelle clean up.

  
_“And when it rains, you’re shining down for me, and I just can’t get enough._  
_Just like a rainbow, you know you set me free, and I just can’t get enough.”_  
—Depeche Mode

* * *

As they emerge from the restaurant, Villanelle burps.

“That pasta was good.”

“That tequila was good.” Eve glances over her shoulder to make sure Kenny and Elena have driven off, then laces her fingers into Villanelle’s and leans into her.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” Eve says. “A little.” It did take a few drinks to numb the embarrassment from Kenny sharing the most shameful moment of Eve’s life with Villanelle and Elena.

“It’s a good thing I’m driving.” Villanelle unlocks the car with a chirp from her key fob, and Eve stumbles blissfully into the leather embrace of the passenger seat.

Eve’s head buzzes like a lazy happy bumblebee, drifting from flower to flower beholden to no one’s timetable but its own, as she stares out the window, watching the road whip by.

“Wait,” she says slowly. “You passed my exit again.”

“I know,” Villanelle says. “We’re going back to my place.”

“You just love to take advantage of me, don’t you?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love being taken advantage of.” Villanelle lets her gaze dart away from the road, to throw a devilish look Eve's way.

“Shit!” Eve shouts, as Villanelle shifts lanes at the same time. “Are you trying to get us killed? Use your blinker.”

“My what?” 

“Your blinker.”

“My what?” Villanelle repeats, and Eve finally understands she’s being mocked.

“Your turn signal.” Eve says. “Even with my low blood alcohol content, I think I’d drive better than you.”

A few minutes later, after stealing a parking spot from a very angry Bostonian, then walking up a steep hill on a narrow, mossy cobblestone path, they’re standing before the impressive old-fashioned brick façade of Villanelle’s Beacon Hill apartment.

“I chose this neighborhood because it reminds me of Europe,” Villanelle explains. “It’s the closest I can get to living in Paris again while I’m stuck here in America.”

“You might like the US more if you weren’t such a snob about it,” Eve babbles as they climb the narrow, winding stairwell.

“America is fine,” Villanelle sighs. “But it’s not my home.”

“So you’re going back, after the wedding?” Eve asks. “Back to Paris, or wherever is next on your little globe-hopping checklist?”

“I suppose so,” Villanelle replies.

Eve pauses to fix Villanelle with a searching glance. “You don’t know where you’re going to live in three months?”

“Do you?” Villanelle asks sharply, and that shuts Eve up. “I live in the present,” Villanelle adds, leading Eve over to a door marked 3A.

While Villanelle fiddles with her keys, Eve makes up her mind that no matter how luxurious the place is – and it will be luxurious, Eve’s sure – she will show no reaction, except perhaps a trace of disdain. Make Villanelle squirm. Convince her that her expensive rent bill is all a waste.

“Make yourself at home,” Villanelle says, as she opens the door.

Eve’s lungs seize up at the sight.

“What do you think?” Villanelle asks, with scarcely contained pride, as she shuts the door.

Eve can’t help but choke out, “It’s chic as shit.”

The living room is as impressive as any Eve’s seen. Hardwood floors. Recessed lighting. Modern, sleek leather couches. A fan palm in an elegant pot next to the towering bookshelves – no doubt full of books from whoever really owned this apartment, but nonetheless giving the apartment an air of intellectualism. An open floor plan with only a small granite-topped island separating the living room from the kitchen, which is also incredibly large and feature-packed for a one-bedroom apartment.

It’s so rudely shocking that Eve forgets she isn’t alone and begins muttering to herself, “Stupid fucking luxury flats normal people can never afford,” or something along those lines.

Then Eve feels hot breath on her shoulder as Villanelle bends down to whisper close in her ear, “Wait until you see the bedroom.”

Eve turns her head a few degrees, so her cheek presses against the dry soft skin of Villanelle’s. “At the moment, I’m more interested in the bathroom.”

Villanelle stalks off down a short hallway, and Eve stands transfixed for a moment, watching her walk away. The white fabric of Villanelle’s sheath dress clings perfectly close to every curve of her muscles and… Then, Eve blinks. _What am I doing?_ She shakes her head clear and follows down the hallway.

“What do you think?” Villanelle says, and this time, Eve can’t fake nonchalance for even a second.

“I think I’m more attracted to your shower than to you.”

The entire apartment is unbelievable, but the bathroom is the crown jewel. Eve would gladly rent this bathroom on its own, sans bedroom or kitchen, although she’d pretty sure that would still be out of her price range.

The floor is charcoal gray tile, smooth and cold with the exception of one cream-colored plush bathmat which prompts Eve to immediately kick off her shoes and dig her toes into, to see if it’s as heavenly soft as it looks. It’s better.

The sink blends right into the counter, made from the same dark charcoal stone, with sleek silver taps, and a mirror taking up the entire wall above the sink.

And the shower. Dear Lord, the shower. 

A low lip and a curtain (which is currently pulled aside) are the only things separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, but it’s equal in size to the rest of the room, or maybe even larger. Seriously… Eve is no expert on spatial estimations, but that shower has to be close to fifty square feet. It’s so large that the showerhead is mounted from the center of the ceiling rather than on the wall.

Eve simply stares at Villanelle, jaw gaping open, beyond words.

“I wish I had a bathtub,” Villanelle says, then begins to undress. “Help unzip?” 

Villanelle spins around, and pulls her half-dried, frizzing hair to the size while Eve pulls the zipper down the long track on Villanelle’s back.

Eve’s heart stops as Villanelle shimmies her shoulders free, then lets the white sheath dress fall to the tiled floor. She has no bra on underneath, and quickly steps out of the new underwear she’d bought just hours ago at Nordstrom, so she’s standing before Eve, fully nude.

“Well?” she demands. “What are you waiting for? There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

Eve struggles to shed her own clothing, all the while keeping her eyes locked on Villanelle. Perhaps because of her stubborn refusal to move her gaze, or because that tequila from earlier is making her just the smallest bit clumsy, she struggles to get out of her shirt, but Villanelle’s hands are there, helping yank it over her head. Then, those presumptuous hands go ahead and unhook Eve’s bra, too.

A moment later, Eve’s nude too, and a little chilly, hoping that the plumbling has been as well-kept as the rest of this building, and will provide an ample amount of hot water.

Villanelle, Eve learns, is one of those absolutely insane people who steps into the shower first, and then stands right in the way of the water as she turns on the spray.

Eve watches, dumbfounded, as the water kicks to life and splashes against Villanelle’s chest. 

Tentatively, Eve steps into the shower, and reaches out a toe to catch some of the errant drops. The spray is surprisingly warm, right away, and the water pressure is incredible. Eve is seriously in love; she might set up her home in this shower and never leave.

First things first, Villanelle pulls out a sweetly scented soap, infused with lavender, and begins scrubbing off the acrid scent of the Charles River from her skin. Once she’s thoroughly sudsed up, she offers the soap to Eve, who does the same. Eve has never been so excited to get clean in her life.

Next, after they’ve both thoroughly de-polluted their skin, Villanelle offers Eve her shampoo. It comes in a metal bottle and looks just as expensive as everything else she has. 

Eve shakes her head. She’s very particular about what she puts in her hair, or rather, her _hair_ is very particular about what it likes, and any deviance from her carefully plotted routine will cause it to rebel into a mess of frizz. 

But once Villanelle uncaps the shampoo, the scent is so pleasant, that something inside Eve stirs, and she finds herself snatching the bottle from a wide-eyed Villanelle. 

Eve pours a quarter-sized glob of shampoo onto her hand, then recaps the bottle and places it out of the way. “Turn,” she says.

Villanelle obliges, shifting around with a _squeak-squeak_ of her wet feet against the tile, while Eve rubs the shampoo between her hands. Then, flexing her fingers like she’s preparing to play a piano sonata, she dives in. Probing, scrunching, combing through the water-dark blonde hair, digging deep in towards the scalp first, then working her way down towards the ends.

Villanelle’s whole body wiggles in an odd shiver.

“Your fingers are strong,” Villanelle comments. “Stronger than any hairdresser I’ve had.”

“I’m used to working with a bit more resistance,” Eve chuckles, shaking her own wet curls from her face. 

“Mm,” Villanelle sighs, while Eve continues to massage her scalp. “You know, I’ve been thinking of cutting it all off.”

Eve’s fingers cease their motion. “What?”

“It would be easier to deal with,” Villanelle says. “And my hair will never be like yours, so what’s the point of keeping it this long?”

“Hey,” Eve says, and grabs Villanelle’s chin to pull her face around. “Your hair is fucking incredible.” She kisses Villanelle and is pleased to note that instead of river pollution, she now tastes like lavender.

“Besides,” Eve says, as she begins to work out the shampoo suds from Villanelle’s tresses. “Curly hair is overrated.”

“That’s exactly what someone with curly hair would say.” Villanelle turns, and Eve steps aside to let her into the center of the shower’s spray so she can rinse the rest of the shampoo out. There’s something supremely vulnerable about the way she scrunches her eyes shut to block the suds from trickling down into them, something supremely adorable in the tiny droplets of water that collect on her eyelashes, and and Eve is overcome; she can’t wait a minute longer.

Her mouth is on Villanelle’s a nanosecond later, and judging from the way Villanelle’s lips freeze, before parting to allow Eve’s tongue entry, Villanelle was not expecting it. But it isn’t long before her tongue is pressing, too, and Eve feels Villanelle’s hands roaming up to twist through her soaked curls, a symbolic return of Eve’s favor.

By this point, the hot water has been running long enough to fill even the spacious shower stall with an ample amount of steam, which settles in beads on their skin, and also coats every surface, like the very room itself is slick with sweat. 

The intensity of Villanelle’s kisses grows, and then she begins working her way down, mouth tracing across Eve’s collarbone, then to her breasts. Eve gasps at the feel of Villanelle sucking on her nipple, grazing just barely with her teeth. And Eve can feel herself growing aroused, feel a warm sensation building in her clit. 

The shower is so spacious, after all. It would be such a waste not to make use of it.

Eve crouches down and gets on her knees, the spray of water beginning to drip down her face, but she doesn’t mind. The stone floor is remarkably cool and clean. She reaches up to grasp Villanelle’s hips, either thumb settling into the sides of the V formed by her pelvis, and places her mouth against Villanelle’s pussy.

Eve’s tongue darts in and out, and Villanelle’s knees tremble – for a moment, Eve is worried that Villanelle may actually lose her balance and slip on the wet floor, but she merely adjusts her footing, and braces her back against the smooth tiled wall. Then, ever-demanding, Villanelle worms her fingers into Eve’s hair and guides Eve’s head back towards her crotch.

“I don’t know which is stronger,” Villanelle mutters, “Your fingers or your jaw.”

Eve pauses for a minute. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Talk less.” Villanelle prods Eve down again, so Eve smacks her on the ass, intending it to show her annoyance, but it only elicits a giggle in response. Villanelle leads her head back against the wall, closes her eyes, and begins tracing around her breasts with her fingers, while Eve rolls her eyes and gets back to work.

A few more moments of Eve doing what she does best with her tongue, while gripping Villanelle’s thighs so hard for purchase that her fingernails will surely leave little crescents after she lets go, Villanelle begins to tense and throb as she comes. Eve keeps going until she feels the wave pass, then extricates herself, leading a trail of kisses down Villanelle’s smooth thighs, to her adorable knees… How is it even possible to have adorable kneecaps? Eve wouldn’t have ever thought to describe knees that way, until now.

Then a finger under her chin, and its as if that one finger is lifting up Eve’s entire body; suddenly she’s standing again, a puppet guided by Villanelle. 

“I almost forgot,” Villanelle says, then reaches to grab a second metal bottle off her shelf. “I need conditioner.”

Eve holds out her cupped hands, into which Villanelle pours a generous glob of her luxury conditioner. The shower is immediately filled with a cocktail of tropical fruit aromas. Eve might as well be blasted in the face with pheromones, for the effect this scent has on her: it brings her back to that first night she met Villanelle, when she was simply a Russian businesswoman without a name, but with hair that smelled of mangoes.

“Ready?” Villanelle says, and Eve barely chokes out a syllable of affirmation before she’s swept off the floor, Villanelle’s arms grasping her beneath the thighs, picking her up and propping her against the wall. She’s surprisingly strong, and Eve makes a mental note to ask Villanelle about her workout routine at some other moment when it won’t kill the mood.

Eve needs something to grip on to, but her hands are already coated in conditioner, so she digs them into Villanelle’s hair once more. She loves multitasking, and it seems like Villanelle does too. While Eve works the conditioner through Villanelle’s silky locks, Villanelle holds Eve up with one arm and uses her other hand to sneak inside Eve, one finger at a time. Then two. 

Subconsciously, they fall into rhythm together. As Villanelle fucks Eve faster with her fingers, so does Eve massage through Villanelle’s hair with more and more vigor. 

_Maybe I_ should _become a hairdresser._ Eve entertains the thought for a moment, then remembers how little patience she has for taking care of her own hair, and she probably would have no patience for this exercise either except for the fact that it’s Villanelle, with her beautiful fucking straight blonde hair, and what’s she _doing_ now?–

All thoughts fly from Eve’s head as Villanelle presses her lips against Eve’s, forcefully, then bites down on her lower lip, hard. At the same moment, Eve reaches orgasm, and clenches her fingers tight. A few moments of intense bliss, where the hot water continues to beat against their skin as they remain frozen, gripping onto each other as if their lives depend on it.

Then, an exhale in unison. The steam seems to become even thicker than before as Villanelle sighs and lets Eve back down onto her own feet. A few more breaths, as their heartbeats slowly return to normal. Then, Villanelle reaches over to turn off the water. 

“That was…” Eve trails off, unable to find a suitable adjective.

“I know,” Villanelle murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Eve’s neck, just below her earlobe. “I have a thing about bathrooms.”

“I’m starting to develop one, too,” Eve chuckles.

When Villanelle pulls aside the shower curtain, the temperature drops a few degrees as the steam escapes, but it’s still pleasantly warm. Soon Eve is engulfed in a cloud-soft towel, patting herself dry as Villanelle knots herself up in a bathrobe full of deep purples and gold, and does her hair in a towel twist.

While Eve is busy unfolding her pants and cardigan, preparing to get dressed, she feels a gentle tap on her shoulder. Villanelle holds out a hair dryer.

“No thanks,” Eve says. “I’ll have to wash my hair again when I get home, anyway.”

Villanelle makes a face, and Eve laughs bitterly. “I told you. It’s _not_ worth the upkeep.”

“Maybe I can help sometime,” Villanelle says. “Relieve you of some of the work.” Villanelle pulls at one of Eve’s curls, which springs back only limply due to its soaked weight. “Stay for a movie.” A statement, not an offer, leaving no room for Eve to debate the merits of acceptance. Then, she abruptly stalks out of the bathroom. 

By the time Eve is fully dressed, Villanelle is already back out in the living room, sprawled on the supple leather couch in her robe. “Eve,” she whines. “Make the remote come to me.”

Eve rolls her eyes and goes to retrieve the TV remote from where it sits, mere feet out of Villanelle’s reach on the coffee table. Then, she flops onto the couch beside her. Villanelle reaches with greedy hands to grab the remote, but Eve pulls it away. “Ah-ah,” she says. “I got it, which means I get to pick whatever we’re about to watch.”

“That’s fine,” Villanelle says, as she snuggles closer to Eve on the couch. “If you pick something stupid, I will twist your arm until you change your mind.”

Something about her tone makes Eve think Villanelle does not use that phrase figuratively. She points the remote at the gigantic flatscreen TV, and begins navigating the insane amount of channels.

Meanwhile, a buzzing in the background. Eve thinks nothing of it while she flips through the movies available on demand. She’s in the mood for something stupid, some cheesy action movie she won’t have to pay close attention to.

Then another buzz, and Villanelle groans and pries herself away from the couch to rise and check her phone, where it sits over on the kitchen island. Then, she lets off a low stream of Russian that Eve doesn’t need a dictionary to identify as cursing.

“What is it?”

“Little change of plans,” Villanelle says with a broad smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Irina is coming over.”

“So we won’t have time for a full movie?”

“So you need to leave. Now.” Villanelle is over to the couch in a flash, pulling Eve up. “She is on her way and might be here any minute. I forgot she wanted me to help her practice for college interviews.”

“Um, okay,” Eve says, fumbling around. “Where did I leave my bag?” 

Villanelle is already shoving Eve’s purse into her hands the very next instant. Eve has never seen Villanelle this alive, this determined. Suddenly, when it’s _her_ family that might discover them, she’s all action. 

“What about my clothes, my wet ones, I mean?” Eve says. “They’re still in your car.”

“I’ll get them back to you another time,” Villanelle says. “Call an Uber. One of the nice ones. I will pay you back.” She pushes Eve towards the door, then as she unlocks it, blurts, “Another time, okay?”

“It’s fine,” Eve insists. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

As Eve steps out into the hallway, and stops for one last look back at Villanelle, the air seems thick again, but instead of steam, it’s tension, expectation that hangs between them.

This shouldn’t feel weird. This is what happens after a casual hookup. One goes home. 

“Well,” Eve stammers. “Bye.”

She turns and begins trotting down the stairs, two at a time, before she can dwell on whether or not she should’ve given a goodbye peck on the cheek. No, right? That’s a relationship thing. She definitely made the right call. 

A block away, Eve considers taking Villanelle up on the Uber offer, because if she takes the T home, she'll have to transfer trains, and with the eternal construction on the Green Line, and the shuttle bus transfers, it’ll be dark before she’s home.

But something about letting Villanelle pay for her ride home feels wrong. Too one-night-stand-y. And what’s occurring between her and Villanelle, it’s _not_ a one night stand. But it’s not quite more than that, either.

While Eve swipes her CharlieCard and pushes through the turnstile, she shoves that question away. She’s not a taxonomist, for Christ’s sake. She shouldn’t need to categorize and label everything with obsessive accuracy. 

But as she steps off the platform onto an outbound train, the little nagging voice in her head persists. 

If she only knew what to call this, whatever it is, then maybe she’d know how to feel about it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started off innocent, I swear. I was like, "Oh, hey remember the end of _No Tomorrow_ , and how awesome the hair-washing scene was? What if I did a little tribute to that?" Then it really got away from me…
> 
> let me know your thoughts
> 
> come chat with me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) (currently on a desperate yet futile quest to avoid season 3 spoilers, but on the other hand if you've read _Die For Me_ and are looking for someone else to talk to about it without spoiling for everyone... I am your gal!)


	8. Rich Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle and Eve have a nice, earnest talk about money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today should have been the Boston Marathon, but it's been postponed for the first time in its 124 year history.
> 
> One of the first ideas I got when I began planning this fic has to do with the Boston Marathon, and originally, I intended to post it on Marathon day. I was really excited for it. Needless to say, things have changed. 
> 
> I was really bummed at first, but the bright side is, now that I didn't have to rush to meet that plot beat, I can let the pacing of this story breathe a lot more. I wasn't intending it to be that long at first... anyone who's looked at my other stuff knows I usually keep my fics brief... but now y'all are gonna get a much longer tale.

  
_“All the riches, baby, won't mean anything._  
_All the riches, baby, won't bring what your love can bring.”_  
—Gwen Stefani ft. Eve

* * *

9:47.

What a beautiful number to read off the digital clock on the nightstand. Being between jobs has its perks.

Eve has an interview later, but it’s absolutely thrilling to have the house to herself for the morning while everyone else is at work.

A morning stretch in a silent house. Singing to herself as she brushes her teeth. No need to fight with Kenny over the bathroom; she can take her sweet time. 

She’s never been quite so excited to have the kitchen to herself for a leisurely breakfast, but when she descends to the kitchen she finds it occupied. Konstantin is there, muttering to himself in annoyed Russian as he struggles to slice a bagel. She watches him for a few seconds while he hacks away, then he finally glances up and starts when he sees Eve.

“Good morning,” he says, once he shakes off the shock.

“Morning,” Eve mumbles. Suddenly, she wishes she put on a bra before coming downstairs.

Konstantin clears his throat, then answers Eve’s unspoken question. “I have a late start today.”

“It’s fine,” Eve says.

“Let me know if I am in your way.”

“You’re not in the way. You live here too,” Eve says. Does she sound too formal? Did she go too hard in trying to hide her annoyance? Should she dial it back? 

Instead of digging herself deeper, she shuffles past Konstantin and grabs a couple slices of bread from the cabinet. As she turns to the toaster oven, she sees Konstantin also headed in that same direction with his freshly halved bagel.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping back.

“No, please.”

“I insist,” he says.

“No, _I_ insist.” Eve fully crosses to the other side of the kitchen and motions for Konstantin to go ahead. She will not be made to feel like a guest in her own house. From Konstantin’s perspective, Eve might seem like the new one here, but she lived in this house nearly two decades before he’d even met Carolyn. 

Konstantin steps forward, and sets his bagel in for a toast, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Eve. His gaze makes Eve feel very exposed, and folds her arms across her chest. 

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Yeah.” A few seconds later, Eve hears what her own response sounds like, and recalls Kenny’s accusation of how she behaved with Raymond: _“answered all his questions with one word”_. So she tries a little harder: “Weird being back in a twin bed. I feel like a teenager again.”

Konstantin lets out a short, clipped laugh, that almost sounds pained, but Eve has now spent just enough time with him to understand that’s his normal laugh.

“What about you?” Eve says.

“Most people hate Mondays,” Konstantin says, “But they are my day to sleep in.”

Finally, the toaster oven beeps, and Konstantin retrieves his burnt-bagel. Eve sticks her bread in, then watches while Konstantin retrieves some lox from the fridge. But he doesn’t put the lox on the bagel. He places it in a pile beside the bagel on his place. He takes a bite of the bagel. He chews, then places it down, picks up a piece of lox and eats it.

It’s the most unsettling sight Eve has ever seen.

“Do you have plans for the day?” Konstantin asks. A few crumbs spill out of his mouth. 

Eve turns to watch her bread toast, instead, as she answers. “An interview, later.”

“Wonderful,” Konstantin says. “I am sure you are eager to get working again.”

Then the toaster beeps again (Eve likes a lightly warmed toast), sparing Eve from figuring out how to respond to that. The truth is, she isn’t that eager to go back to work. While she is starting to grow restless without anything to fill her days, the idea of returning to market analysis is not calling out to her like it used to.

But she knows she has to get back into the rat race sometime, hence her finally sending out a slew of applications, and graciously accepting the first interview offered to her with her best professional shit-eating gratitude. 

While she spreads jam on her toast, she notes that Konstantin has pulled out his phone, as he eats. Eve goes to sit opposite him at the kitchen table. No more forcing conversation. He just wants a quiet breakfast, too.

The rest of breakfast is filled with nothing but the sounds of chewing and of crumbs falling to their plates. Perhaps Eve will get along well with Konstantin after all.

After Eve has put on a bra, and is now debating about what blouse and blazer combo would look best, her phone buzzes. The screen reports an incoming call from _V.V._ , and Eve grins as she answers. 

“Hair,” Villanelle drawls, as soon as Eve picks up. “All over my apartment. Brown hair, everywhere. Not only in the bathroom. I do not know how, or why.”

“Sorry,” Eve laughs. “That happens.”

“You were only here two hours,” Villanelle says. “You are worse than the cat.”

“You have a cat?”

“Had. It ran away. Just as well, that _dyavol_ was an ungrateful little shit.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Should’ve killed it like my rabbits.”

“What?”

Villanelle’s tone brightens. “So you have a job interview?”

“How did you know?”

“Dad told me.”

“Just… now?”

“We text,” Villanelle says. “Where’s the interview?”

“LuciTech,” Eve says.

“Wow. They are big.”

“Yeah. They need a new VP of Marketing.”

“And they want _you_?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Eve huffs. “I’m good at my job.”

“I thought you were fired,” Villanelle says.

“Where did you get that from?”

“You are so mopey and grumpy every time your old job comes up,” Villanelle says. “I connected the dots.”

“For the record,” Eve says, “I was not _fired_. I resigned due to differences of opinion with my bosses.”

“Right,” Villanelle says, skepticism still layered in her tone. Eve expects her to go on, but she says nothing; there’s only the sound of her breathing.

“I need to get ready, so–”

“Wait,” Villanelle says.

“What?”

“Good luck.”

Given that Eve was not exactly excited for the interview, she feels it’s not a horrible breach of modesty to admit she knocked it out of the fucking park.

One of the other VPs also recently moved from LA – lots to talk about there. The whole group of suits on the other side of the conference table loved Eve’s portfolio. She nailed every one of the hypothetical situations they presented to her. Not a single awkward lull in the conversation. Feeling absolutely infused with power from her head to her toes, Eve exits the revolving door of the huge office building, feeling the late winter sun on her cheeks as she steps outside. Then, she stops short, mouth wide in a grin at the sight that greets her.

“There’s my business gal,” Villanelle says. She’s leaning up against the side of her shiny black car, parked smack in front of the building. A pair of black leather boots reach up to her knees, where they give way to tight khaki pants, then topped off with a pink trenchcoat that’s slightly open to reveal a luxurious cream sweater underneath. She has two coffee cups in her hands, and hands one to Eve. “So have they offered you your contract already?”

“No,” Eve says. “But they will.”

They stroll down the street and sip coffee while Villanelle asks Eve all about the interview, hanging on every detail, nodding and laughing at the appropriate times.

Even as she narrates the conversation, Eve’s mind wanders back to the place it’s been stuck since yesterday. What _are_ she and Villanelle, categorically speaking?

Villanelle heard about Eve’s interview from her Dad, and called to ask about it. That’s a familial thing to do. 

She surprised Eve with coffee and wants to hear all about how the interview went. That’s a friendly thing to do.

But not twenty-four hours ago, she fucked Eve in the shower. That’s something else entirely.

If Eve tallies up the actions, like she’s keeping score, the math seems to indicate that she and Villanelle are in relationship territory, or at least heading there.

But that’s not an option. They’d talked about it and agreed after the first time they slept together: sex only. Nothing more; it would get too complicated. And of course, it all ends by the wedding day.

So why did Villanelle show up here today? Is she trying to blur the lines on purpose? Does Eve need to stop, and tell Villanelle to back off, keep some distance, so things don’t get messy?

There’s a chance, though, that Villanelle intended it completely innocently, a sisterly act, and Eve is the one reading too much into it.

It’s no use for Eve to dwell on it: her mind only goes in circles, just like her and Villanelle’s path as they meander the sidewalks of the financial district.

After looping the block a couple times, they settle down at a small café with outdoor seating, and order a light meal. It’s the crisp sort of March day where it’s just bearable to sit outside, if you keep your jacket on, and at least the sun is out, offering a nice dose of vitamin D.

Once Eve finishes the play-by-play of her conversation with the VPs, it isn’t long before Villanelle comes round to the question Eve expected her to ask first of all. “How much does it pay?”

Eve fumbles in her purse for a pen, then writes a number down on her napkin, and slides it across the table.

Villanelle’s jaw drops. “Eve! Look at you, moving up!”

“It’s a modest upgrade from my old salary, yes.”

“Modest?” Villanelle furrows her brow. “I thought you were poor.”

“I’m not poor,” Eve says.

“Always ‘that’s too much’ and ‘I can’t afford that’.”

“I’m frugal. I save.”

“How much?”

Eve unlocks her phone and logs into her bank app, just to check. She hasn’t in a while, after all, and she’s debating how to phrase it when Villanelle snatches the phone out of her hands. Her eyes almost burst out of her head when she sees the display.

“You’re paying for lunch,” she exclaims. She tosses the phone down on the table. “And you act like you’re broke.” Villanelle shakes her head. “You could pay for an Uber. You could pay for a car. You could pay for my apartment.”

“That’s my retirement fund,” Eve explains. “I don’t touch it.”

“If you have that much, why do you shop at Target? Why do you take public transportation?” Villanelle gags on the word.

“I shop at Target because their clothes are comfortable and easy. I take the T because parking in Boston is a bitch, anyways, and I like getting a little walk in.”

“But if you have this money, you should use it for something.” Villanelle wrinkles her nose. “If you’re so in love with Target, at least get yourself another fifty cheap sweaters.”

Eve inhales deeply, trying to to explain as patiently as she can. “I put myself through college, took out major loans, right as a recession hit. I had to really scrimp to get by. And over the years, I found that I don’t mind doing things that way. Besides, instead of saving to pay off my loans, now I’m saving for things like a house and retirement.”

“Silly to have all that money sitting there doing nothing,” Villanelle mutters.

Eve wrinkles her brow. “Are you saying… You don’t save for retirement?”

Villanelle shrugs. “Why would I? I make great money.”

“But one day when you stop…”

“I will never stop,” Villanelle insists. “I like working.”

“But what if you can’t work?” Eve asks.

“Why?”

“What if you get laid off?”

“I can’t be laid off.”

“Or you get sick?”

“I do not get sick.”

“Or the market crashes?”

“I’d find a new job,” Villanelle shrugs. “I’m good at lots of things.”

Eve’s patience finally snaps. “You know you won’t be twenty-seven forever, right?”

“Don’t get all mean big sister on me,” Villanelle teases.

“I won’t, if you don’t get all bratty little sister.” Eve realizes it came out a bit more harshly than she intended, so she slows down, before she moderates, “For someone who’s so good with money, you are really stupid with money.”

“I am not stupid, Eve.” Villanelle’s voice has dropped at least fifty degrees. Only a moment ago, this was good-natured teasing, but now… Villanelle stares at Eve with genuine coldness. How does she have the right to act so offended, when she started this whole argument in the first place?

“I guess we just have different views about money,” Eve says, using everything she has to try to keep her tone even.

“Mine are right and yours are wrong,” Villanelle grumbles.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not in a relationship,” Eve snaps. “Otherwise that might be a problem.”

Villanelle stares daggers, and Eve sends them right back. She didn’t want to get into this stand-off, but she sure as hell isn’t going to back down now.

Villanelle doesn’t blink once. But her right eyebrow creeps up just a millimeter, and she says “Do you want to have sex?”

“Yeah,” Eve exhales. “Yeah, of course I want to have sex.”

“Wonderful,” Villanelle says, and although she breaks off the tense stare, her tone is still icy. She stands, and pulls out her car keys from her bag, twirling them in her fingers. “I’ll see you in an hour after you get off the train.”

She turns and walks off in her knee-high boots before Eve can say boo.

  
Eve is steaming. She actually stops to look at her reflection in a store window to see if there’s real steam radiating from her skin, because that’s how angry she is. 

But then, a few minutes later as she walks by Dunkin’ Donuts, an idea comes to her. A couple of traffic cops emerge from Dunkin’, chatting animatedly with each other. 

“Excuse me, hi officers,” Eve says, drawing upon her sickly sweet persona for the second time that day – easy, since the interview warmed her up. “Are you on duty?”

“Comin’ back from a break,” one of the officers says.

“I have a tip for you.” Boston cops have quotas to meet, right?

“Alright,” the other cop says.

“I saw someone driving without a valid license.” There’s no way Villanelle has all her documents up to date, and with her. “Black Lexus, license plate TC6560. Just passed, heading west on State Street.” Then, a pause. “Also, I have reason to believe there might be _drugs_ in the car.”

Eve’s frightened suburbanite act, plus the way she whispers the word drugs evidently convinces the officers, because they thank her with a nod and then begin power-walking to their patrol car, already muttering a stream of codes into their walkies. 

Incredibly satisfied with herself, Eve takes her time on the journey to Villanelle’s apartment, and really takes her time. She even lets the first train she sees pass by because it’s too crowed, and waits for the next one. 

When she arrives, she plops down on the stoop and waits cheerfully. Though it’s brisk, it’s still a beautiful day. She waves to passersby. She plays on her phone.

Twenty minutes later, a very tired and angry looking Villanelle shows up.

“There you are! I was getting worried,” Eve says, full of concern. “What held you up?”

“That is not funny, Eve,” Villanelle growls, exhaling through her nose like a bull about to charge. “I did not have an English copy of my driver’s license. They took away my lease.”

“Boo hoo, baby lost her Lexus,” Eve whines. “I’ll help you get a CharlieCard.”

“They also searched me for drugs.”

Eve is determined to hold in her laughs. “That’s… crazy,” she manages. Bursting at the seams.

“They brought a dog,” Villanelle growls. “It went right at my crotch.”

“What a _dyavol_.”

Villanelle steps up and shoves Eve. Shoves her, like a kid.

Eve says, “Pushing? Really?”

“What are you going to do?” Villanelle sneers. “Tell ‘Mom’?” Villanelle puts her hands on Eve’s shoulders again, and pushes her up against the brick wall of the building. The impact isn’t enough to really hurt, but it’s not entirely gentle either.

Villanelle plants an arm on either side of Eve’s head, boxing her in against the wall. For an instant, Eve feels a flicker of fear, like Villanelle might actually take out her anger physically. But it’s brief… and thrilling. A second later, Villanelle brings one hand down, to graze Eve’s jawline tenderly with her index finger. It blazes across Eve’s skin like a firebrand.

“Come upstairs,” Villanelle says. Her breaths coming quick and shallow, so close that Eve can feel the warmth on her cheeks.

“I’d love to,” Eve says, “but I can’t.” She slithers out from Villanelle’s grasp. “My Uber’s here.”

Eve waves goodbye then stalks down to the end of the block where a red SUV is waiting for her. It takes all of her self control not to glance back and see Villanelle’s face, but it’s worth it. The expression she’s imagining in her head is pretty damn funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you caught the nod to another work in this fandom 🙋🏻♀️
> 
> as always let me know ya thoughts in the comments 
> 
> or come say hi on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo


	9. Under the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their fight, Eve tries to reach out, but finds that Villanelle is rather distant.

_“You’re under the weather, just like the world, and I need somebody to hold._  
_When I turn out the light, you’re out of sight, although I know that I’m not alone…”_  
—KT Tunstall

* * *

  
“If you’re ready to sign today, I can offer you zero percent APR for the first year.”

“Yeah,” Eve says, staring at her phone. “Sure. I just need another minute…”

“Take your time,” the salesman says with a plasticky grin, and walks off to the other end of the showroom to help another customer.

Eve opens her Messages app, as if re-opening it will make a new notification appear. But no, her texts remain unanswered.

The first reach-out she’d sent only three hours after leaving Villanelle blue-balled: _Cooled off yet?_ Paired with the sweating face emoji and the laughing emoji. No response, but Eve knew that one might fall flat; her emoji game isn’t very strong.

She’d tried again right before going to bed last night: _What are you doing now?_ She’d thought it might ease into some light sexting, but no response. Whatever, she figured Villanelle was still angry.

This morning, she’d sent another three texts to Villanelle from the Honda showroom, at various points while tuning out the dealer’s sales pitch.

_Might get some fresh wheels this morning. So I can drive you around now_

_Come help me pick out my new car?_

_I’ve got my eye on a sensible used sedan you’d love to make fun of_

For some reason, she’s still holding out hope that Villanelle might suddenly answer, and want to come down to the dealership, banter with Eve about how driving a five-year-old car is an embarrassment, and then they’d laugh away every memory of their fight.

After tapping her screen uselessly a few more times, Eve finally tucks her phone away and calls the salesman back over. Two minutes later, she’s the proud owner of a blue 2015 Honda Civic. 

Regardless of her fight with Villanelle, it was really time for Eve to buy a car anyway, as she’s beginning to settle back into being in Boston for the time being. Much as she doesn’t mind public transit, there are plenty of places not accessible on the T. She feels bad about asking Kenny for rides so often, and now that Villanelle doesn’t have a car, it seemed like a great excuse.

And it was a great excuse to reach out to Villanelle, too.

While Eve makes her inaugural journey home in her new vehicle, she tries her hardest not to obsess. If Villanelle’s mad, let her be mad. Eve’s done her due diligence trying to reach out, and if Villanelle wants to sulk, that’s her prerogative. 

Right as Eve pulls into the driveway, her phone buzzes, and she’s a little too eager to check it. Her excitement fades when she sees it’s only a text from Carolyn to the entire family group chat to confirm a plan for dinner on Eve’s birthday, coming up in just over a week. 

Eve types out a quick affirmative message, then goes up to her room.

Lying on her bed, on her phone. Almost a flashback to her teen years, except back then it was holding an actual landline phone and talking with her friends. Now, it’s staring down at her backlit screen as she types a text to Bill.

Eve: Hey, I need advice  
Eve: my hitachi wand is acting up again.

(Eve began using this as a codename for Villanelle, just in case Kenny or anyone else should see her texts with Bill over her shoulder. It seemed fitting, since the main purpose of each was to provide excellent orgasms without emotional attachment.)

Bill: What seems to be the problem?

Eve: I cant find it, it’s not responding  
Eve: I don’t know if it’s out of batteries or mad at me or what

Bill: I think it may be time to abandon the metaphor

Eve: she’s pissed

Bill: What did you do?

Eve: why do you assume it was something I did?

Bill: WHAT did you do?

Eve: there was a little fight…  
Eve: but she started it!

Bill: and I’m guessing you ended it

Eve: …  
Eve: I’m trying to apologize but she won’t answer my messages

Bill: Then maybe it’s time to make a bigger gesture

Eve: uggghhhh

Bill: Or buy a new sex toy.

Eve: you’re not helpful

Eve closes the thread with Bill, and looks back to check the notifications that have come in the family thread. Usually, Villanelle is the first one to hop on any of Carolyn’s texts, responding immediately – the ass-kissing couldn’t be any more blatant or more annoying – but even after Eve, Kenny, and Irina all send responses with varying degrees of enthusiasm, there’s no response from Villanelle.

Is she really so mad that she can’t even carry on acting normal amongst the family? Eve finds that incredibly immature, and yes, she realizes it’s hardly her place to call someone else immature, but come _on_. It was a tiny prank. Harmless, really. Like the cops would actually give any trouble to a young, attractive white woman for lacking a U.S. Driver’s license. Frankly, Eve was shocked that they even suspended her lease, but it’s not like it will be so hard for Villanelle to get it back; it’s only a few forms to fill out.

  
When Eve heads downstairs to look for a snack, she finds Konstantin entering, hanging up his jacket on the hook.

“Hi,” Eve says. “How was work?”

“The usual,” Konstantin chuckles. “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

“Right,” Eve says. Sure is great having the family work in intelligence. Cuts down on the work-related small talk. “Hey, uh, weird question, but have you heard from Villanelle at all today?”

Konstantin pauses to think, then says, “No.”

“Is that unusual?” Eve asks, trying to keep her tone casual. “I mean, I just noticed she’s been slower to respond to the group.”

Konstantin’s face grows conflicted. “In a way…”

“What is it?”

“When Villanelle goes quiet for a day or two like this,” Konstantin begins. “It’s usually because she is with a lover.”

“Excuse me?” Eve chokes.

“She gets…” Konstantin pauses, looking for the right words. “Deeply involved, with people, for brief periods.” He wrinkles his brow. “Pardon me if I don’t try too hard to get her attention,” Konstantin says. “As a father, I learned that it’s better if I keep a distance at those times.”

Eve wants to melt into the floor. “Right,” she says, airily. “Yes, best to keep a distance.”

She can’t believe how stupid she is.

Villanelle is fucking someone else. Of course. Why shouldn’t she? It’s not like she and Eve were in any kind of exclusive relationship… Not five minutes ago, hadn’t Eve jokingly compared Villanelle to a vibrator? And since Eve left Villanelle hanging, it really makes perfect sense if Villanelle turned to someone else for a release.

It’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

In no way does it go against Eve and Villanelle’s agreement.

It shouldn’t bother Eve in the slightest.

That’s what Eve keeps telling herself as she drives down to Villanelle’s apartment.

She checks her phone one last time after parking to see if Villanelle has responded, but of course she hasn’t, so Eve resorts to plan B. She waits for someone else to let her into the building – only takes about five minutes, luckily – then rings the buzzer on the landlord’s apartment.

The door swings open to reveal a stout olive-skinned woman. “What do you want?”

“Hi,” Eve says, making use of her sugar-sweet voice again (she’s getting a lot of mileage out of it lately). “You know Villanelle Vasilieva, in 3A?”

“Miss Richie Russian Sublease?” the landlord says. “Yeah, I know her.”

“Look, I know this is a big ask, but can you please let me in to her apartment? She’s not answering any calls or texts and–”

“This may shock you, lady, but I don’t let strangers into apartments just because they ask.”

“I’m not a stranger,” Eve says. “She’s my sister.”

“Sister?” the woman layers her tone with a wholly unnecessary amount of skepticism.

“Step-sister.” Eve purses her lips. “But… we don’t usually call ourselves that. We’re very close.” Not technically a lie.

“Sorry,” the landlord says. “Get her to let you in.”

She goes to shut the door, but Eve reaches a hand into the doorjamb to stop her.

“It’s not so simple,” Eve says quickly. “She’s had problems with drugs in the past. I’m worried she might be using again. Lying in there passed out… Too weak to move, to call for help…”

The landlord’s stony expression softens. She reaches for her keyring. _Mentioning drugs really gets you anything in this world, huh,_ Eve thinks to herself.

Eve follows the landlord up the stairs and watches her unlock the door, then knock loudly. “Family coming in,” she calls loudly. “Since it’s an emergency. If there’s drama don’t take it out on me.”

Eve creeps inside, afraid of what she might find. Will she be greeted with the sight of Villanelle bumping uglies with a stranger as soon as she looks up?

The living room is empty. Eve’s heart is still in her throat as she creeps down the hallway. No sound from the bathroom, either, which is a relief: Eve feared nothing more than finding Villanelle with someone else in the shower. 

Which leaves only the bedroom to check. 

A thrill of adrenaline runs through Eve as she imagines kicking the door open and busting in with a triumphant yell, but timidity wins out, and she knocks. “Villanelle? Are you in there?”

“No.” Her voice sounds rougher and angrier than Eve has ever heard her. Bracing herself, Eve cracks the door open.

All she sees is a rumpled duvet atop the queen-size bed, until she creeps a few steps closer and sees a few tangled tendrils of blonde hair poking out at the head of the bed. 

“Are you–”

“Go away,” says the lump underneath the blankets. 

“Just checking in since you haven’t responded to any of the family… Konstantin was getting worried,” Eve says. “But after all that you’re just–”

“I’m not.” At this, Villanelle curls her body around, not sitting up, but squirming and poking her head up from the blanket. Her hair is going in a dozen different directions, like her head was licked by a gigantic cow.

“You could’ve just told us you’re sick, and–”

“I do not get _sick._ ” But even her enunciation betrays her; her “t”s come out more like “d”s. 

“So I suppose you’re just trying out a new look, then?” Eve teases. She steps closer, intending to just muss Villanelle’s already-mussed hair, but as soon as she touches her, it’s obvious how hot her skin is to the touch. “Shit,” Eve mutters, then presses the back of her hand to Villanelle’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” Villanelle insists.

“If you’re fine, stand up and show me.”

A few seconds. Villanelle’s face goes pained, like she’s trying to muster up the energy.

“I’m very comfortable right here,” Villanelle says, then gives a huge sniff. 

“Ew,” Eve says. “I’m gonna get you some tissues.”

“I do not need them,” Villanelle says, but Eve is already gone. She checks the bathroom first, and finds almost nothing in the medicine cabinet, only makeup, moisturizer, and tampons. Baffled, she takes to the kitchen, and rifles through the largely-empty cabinets before returning to the bathroom to swipe the roll of toilet paper.

Villanelle accepts the toilet paper wordlessly, but mercifully, swallows her pride enough to blow her nose.

“Why do you have literally nothing in this apartment?” Eve says. “No thermometer. No Tylenol.”

“I told you, I do not–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eve mutters. “Look, tell me honestly. Can you survive half an hour more on your own?”

“Of course,” Villanelle scoffs, though it comes off less self-important than she probably intended it, while wiping her nose at the same time.

“I’m going to get you some supplies,” Eve says.

“Okay, well, if you’re going out, get me some champagne too because I’ve run out,” Villanelle says, but Eve’s already on her way out. “Because I’m not sick!”

Eve returns about thirty-five minutes later, the extra time owing to the fact that she also stopped at the kosher deli across the street.

When she opens the door, she finds that Villanelle has relocated to the couch, though she looks completely spent from the journey. Now that she’s out from under her blankets, Eve is treated to the sight of her lobster-printed silk pajamas. 

“Looking real healthy over there,” Eve says. “It’s a shame, because if you could get up, you could come get this delicious matzah ball soup I brought.”

Villanelle doesn’t so much as raise her head. “Eve,” she sniffs. “I think I might be sick.”

“No shit,” Eve says, pulling out the thermometer she got from the pharmacy and unwrapping it. She walks over to the couch and shoves it into Villanelle’s mouth. “Oh my god,” she says, in a flash of inspiration. “It was the river.”

“You fell in too,” Villanelle mumbles.

“Yes, but I didn’t walk around in a sundress with wet hair in February,” Eve says. “Stop talking or else it won’t get your temperature right.”

Villanelle sulks but keeps her mouth shut while Eve goes to unpack the rest of her wares: tissues, antibacterial wipes, hand sanitizer, cough drops, Tylenol, Ibuprofen, ginger ale, and saltines. 

As the thermometer beeps, Eve returns to check the reading. “One hundred and two point six,” she reads. 

“What is that in Celsius?”

“It’s a fever,” Eve says. “But we’ll keep an eye on it later.”

“We?”

“Yeah,” Eve says. “Did you think I’m just gonna leave you here?”

With a grunt, Villanelle props herself up against the arm of the couch. “You mentioned soup?”

Once she gets Villanelle slurping away and scooping at her matzah ball, Eve looks for something else to do. “How are you feeling, temperature-wise? Do you want a hottie-bottie?”

“A what?” Villanelle laughs and dribbles a little bit of soup back into the cup.

“A, um, hot water bottle?” Eve says, cheeks warming with embarrassment. “That’s what Carolyn used to call them when Kenny and I were little.”

“I think I’m alright,” Villanelle says. 

Eve sits down at the other end of the couch, squeezing into the room left past Villanelle’s feet. 

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to get infected?” Villanelle rasps in a spooky voice.

“If you got this from the Charles,” Eve says. “Then I’m sure I’m already immune.”

“We’ll see about that,” Villanelle says, and inches across the couch so she’s cuddled up against Eve’s side.

Eve reaches for the TV remote, and begins flipping through channels. “We never got to watch a movie the other day, did we?”

“No…” Villanelle murmurs. “Find a good one.”

Eve flips through the various movie channels until she finds a satisfactory one. “Ten Things I Hate About You!” she exclaims. “A classic.”

“I haven’t seen it,” Villanelle says.

“You need to,” Eve says. “Oh, we’ve missed a couple minutes, but it’s okay. I’ll fill you in. So there’s these two sisters, and the dad is really strict, he says that the younger one can’t date until the older one does…”

They watch the rest of the movie, remaining curled up together, except for Eve to occasionally clean up the growing pile of used tissues, or to bring Villanelle a new glass of water and make sure she drinks it.

“Eve,” Villanelle asks, as the credits roll. “Why are you here?”

Eve averts her gaze, and mumbles, “You weren’t answering your texts.”

“For less than a day,” Villanelle says.

“So you admit you were ignoring me?”

“It is my right to ignore you if I want to.”

“I was trying to apologize!” Eve says. “Which you’d know if you’d responded.”

“Doesn’t matter now, since you broke into my apartment.”

“I was pretty relieved to find you lying in bed like that,” Eve says.

“You’re glad I feel like shit?” Villanelle says, propping herself up.

“No!” Eve says. “It was just better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Never mind.”

Villanelle smacks Eve’s leg. “You do not get to dodge the question. I’m sick.” She coughs pitifully. “And you still technically owe me an apology.”

“I’m sorry,” Eve says. “It was too much.”

“Tell me how bad you feel.”

“Don’t push it,” Eve says.

Villanelle smirks. “What was the ‘alternative’?”

“Konstantin said something that led me to believe that you might be…”

Villanelle raises her eyebrows, waiting for Eve to finish.

“Involved with someone.”

“And that would bother you?” Villanelle asks, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your face did.”

“I think it’s time to take your temperature again, sicky.”

When Eve returns to with the thermometer, Villanelle pops it into her mouth without a word.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Eve says.

Villanelle’s eyes widen.

“Stop!” Eve says. “I mean it.”

Villanelle blinks innocently. 

“None of this is a big deal, okay?” Eve says. “And if you were sleeping with someone, that wouldn’t be either.”

The thermometer beeps. Villanelle takes it out and looks at the number. “One hundred one,” she reads. “It’s changing.”

“So it is,” Eve replies. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.” She stands up. “I guess I can go now, you’ve got what you need, and you’re on the mend.”

She makes it halfway to the door before Villanelle’s voice stops her.

“Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you think?
> 
> Chat me up on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxoxo
> 
> P.S.: enjoy this depiction of [sick!Villanelle](https://twitter.com/chenckino/status/1253657364596588547?s=20) by chenckino :)


	10. (Do It On My) Twin Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve shows Villanelle her childhood home.

_“Let’s do it in my twin bed._ _Not gonna like it,_  
_But you can’t be picky_ _when you’re staying with your family.”_  
—Chris Kelly, Sarah Schneider, Kate McKinnon, and Aidy Bryant

* * *

  
Eve wakes up in an unfamiliar place. She blinks to clear her vision, but it only confirms that she is not in her bedroom. A tiny thrill of fear as she scans her surroundings before noting with relief that she does recognize the location after all. 

She’s in Villanelle’s bed. After taking care of her in her sickness, Villanelle begged her to stay the night, and it was impossible to say no to that pitiful snot-nosed little face. So Eve stayed. 

Seeing as the couch was already germed up, and Eve had been laying next to Villanelle all day anyway, she figured there was no harm in sleeping together in the queen bed. Sadly, Eve was wrong: there was indeed harm and injury dealt by sleeping next to the biggest tossing, turning, kicking, blanket-stealing monster in all of the world. Halfway through the night, Eve made her peace with the fact that she’d have no covering and tried to find refuge at the far side of the bed, but was still woken occasionally by a stray kick to the back.

Eve reaches over to feel Villanelle’s forehead. She stays dead asleep at the touch, so much so that Eve also decides to check her pulse and confirm she’s still alive. From the coolness of her skin, it seems her fever has cleared. Merely a forty-eight-hour bug. 

Eve looks down at her for a minute. Takes in Villanelle’s tangled mess of blonde hair, her soft cheek pressed up against her fancy silk pillow, the tiny amount of drool escaping from her open mouth.

This is the woman Eve is hopelessly attracted to.

Eve climbs out of bed and enjoys an indulgently long shower in Villanelle’s incredible bathroom to get the sick-feeling off of her skin. Then, after checking that Villanelle remains asleep, she elects to let her snooze, and ventures to the kitchen in search of food.

The contents of the state-of-the-art silver fridge are as follows:

Six Yoplait yogurts in various flavors.

Two bottles of Prosecco.

End of list.

Eve rubs her face, grabs her purse, and leaves the apartment, making sure to steal Villanelle’s keys from the hook by the door as she goes. She makes a quick trip to the corner store, which is small, but supplies the few essentials Eve seeks: bread, milk, eggs.

On her way back, she notices that the bougie handcrafted pantry next door has also just opened, and on a whim, she pops in and buys a small bottle of maple syrup and a pot of marmalade that combined, total almost half a paycheck. Normally Eve would balk at that thought, but Villanelle will surely appreciate the classy additions, and maybe splurging once in a while isn’t so bad.

She’s back to the kitchen, well in the midst of making a batch of french toast when Villanelle finally stumbles out of the bedroom, half awake.

“Am I dreaming?” she mumbles.

“You are not,” Eve says, as she flips a perfectly browned piece of toast from the frying pan onto a plate. 

Villanelle saunters over to grab Eve around the waist, laying her chin atop Eve’s head. “It’s not often I wake up to a woman still here. Cooking me breakfast. What does this make us?”

Eve turns around, wraps her arms around Villanelle’s shoulder, and tucks a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. She presses onto her tiptoes and kisses Villanelle gently. “It makes us even.”

Villanelle retreats to shower and dress while Eve finishes frenching the rest of the toast, and soon they’re both hungrily tearing into Eve’s handiwork.

“Well,” Eve says, as she chews the last bite of her toast. “Fun as this impromptu slumber party was, it’s about time for me to head home.” She wipes some crumbs from her face with a napkin, and begins bringing the dishes to the sink.

“Take me with you.”

“What?” Eve turns, to see Villanelle pitifully playing with her fork, pushing around a bit of charred crust left on her plate.

“I want to see where the whole family lives.”

“You’ve got syrup on your chin.”

Villanelle wipes her finger on her chin, then pops it in her mouth. “Everyone but me in one house.”

“Not everyone,” Eve says. “Not Irina.”

“But she _will_ , once the wedding happens, and once school gets out.”

“Hopefully by that point, I will not,” Eve mutters. “Don’t you have work to do, anyway?”

“I think I need another day to recover before I’m well enough to work.”

Eve levies her most skeptical glare in response. 

Villanelle pouts. Her eyes are Disney-wide and her chin is still sticky. 

  
An hour later, Eve’s pulling her car into the driveway at home.

“This is it,” she says, turning off the engine. “Classic colonial. Two-car drive. Awfully exciting, I know.”

Villanelle looks out the window at the manicured lawn in front of the charming blue two-story house. “You told me you lived in Boston.”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t that the town line we just drove past?”

“Yeah, like, a half-mile down the road.”

“You are not from Boston,” Villanelle says, gravely serious. 

“Basically!” Eve says. “Besides, that’s what you say. If someone’s ‘from Boston’ that can legally mean anywhere east of Worcester.”

“You lied to me, Eve. You are from the suburbs.”

Eve glowers at her. “Do you want to see the house or not?”

That shuts Villanelle up, at least temporarily.

Villanelle follows inside, and her face lights up like a kid at Disneyland. 

“Wow,” she gasps, more impressed by the traditional family home than Eve had been by her luxury apartment. She gapes in awe at the scratched dining room table, the impressive yet worn Persian rugs, and most especially at the family photos over the mantlepiece.

Although she laughs for nearly five minutes at one photo of five-year-old Eve shoving her face into an ice cream cone, a new discovery eventually pulls her away. She gasps and runs to the grand piano in the corner, pulling off its protective cover. 

“Does Carolyn play?” she asks, stroking the glossy black surface. “Or Kenny?”

“I do,” Eve says, making Villanelle’s jaw drop once again. “Well, I did. It’s been years.”

“You didn’t like it?” Villanelle asks, pressing her cheek against the smooth finish, so it squashes flat. 

“I liked it,” Eve says. “I just… had other priorities you know? Wasn’t gonna be a professional.”

“Play something for me now?”

Eve is about to offer a swift denial, but Villanelle’s got that Disney look on again, so she sighs and opens the lid covering the keys. Villanelle squeals with excitement.

Eve pulls out the bench and opens the compartment inside. She rifles through the selection of sheet music contained within, pieces she learned all throughout childhood.

Meanwhile, Villanelle returns to examining the ebony body of the piano. “Carolyn bought this beautiful piano just for you?”

Eve laughs darkly. “No way. Other way around. This piano was her mother’s, and she made me take lessons all while growing up just to justify its presence here. I hated them at first. Then kinda got used to it.”

Finally, Eve unearths Mozart’s _Fantasy in d minor_ from the pile. She opens the sheet music and can’t help but smile at the penciled-in notes and fingering markings left by her old piano teacher. This piece will do just fine.

She spreads out the pages on the stand. Sits on the bench. Scoots in. Stretches out her fingers. Adjusts her birthstone ring so it won’t shake loose. God, how many years has it been since she even touched a piano? This could be extremely embarrassing for her. But Villanelle is leaning against the body of the instrument with stars in her eyes, practically vibrating with anticipation, so there’s no backing down now.

Eve lowers her fingertips to the smooth ivory keys and begins playing. The music comes slow and stilted at first, but the opening arpeggios allow her to warm up and shake out the kinks, and soon her decades-old muscle memory kicks in. By the time she reaches the second cadenza, her fingers dance through the cascading chromatic run as if she’d played it at a recital only yesterday.

By the modulation into D major, Eve’s genuinely having fun, all of her nerves forgotten. When she reaches the final cadence, landing the fortissimo ending, she exhales with a thrill she hasn’t felt in years. The sound of light applause makes her look up – she’d gotten so wrapped up in the piece, she forgot Villanelle was there. 

Villanelle looks down at her, practically drooling. “ _Bravissima,_ ” she purrs, then grabs the back of Eve’s head, bends down, and kisses her deeply. Soon she’s scooted onto the other side of the bench, and they’re tearing into each other. The position is hot for about thirty seconds before it becomes very uncomfortable to have their necks craned to the side, so Eve stands, guiding Villanelle with her, knocking the bench over in the process, although neither of them notice.

Clearly, Villanelle is fully recovered, because she pursues Eve with a greater ferocity than ever before. Her hands slip up underneath Eve’s shirt, while her mouth dips down Eve’s neck and begins to suck. Eve’s hands search for any solid object to find purchase, and end up splayed on the keys, producing a cacophonous cluster chord, as she stretches her head back and shivers.

Villanelle is in an animalistic frenzy now, a predator that can’t be satisfied. Her hands slip underneath Eve’s bra, tweak at her nipples until they grow hard. Then, they’re back on Eve’s hips, guiding her around to the side of the piano, maneuvering her into the crook. Her mouth goes back to Eve’s, her tongue probing into Eve’s mouth. She leans forward, leveraging Eve up against the piano.

 _Oh shit,_ Eve thinks. _This is actually happening._ It occurs to her how furious Carolyn would be if she knew Eve was about to have sex up against her mother’s piano. She kisses Villanelle with renewed passion.

But it’s a bit uncomfortable to bend backwards at this angle. Eve grunts as her back complains. “Maybe on top?” she mumbles between kisses, and Villanelle understands her meaning. She reaches an arm underneath each of Eve’s thighs and squats, lifting Eve up off the ground with a small groan and placing her on top of the lid of the piano. 

Villanelle undoes Eve’s fly and begins pulling her pants off. It’s a bit of an awkward affair, and by the time they’ve worked her jeans down to her ankles, Eve’s spine already aches again, and her tailbone is sore, too, from laying against the hard surface.

She sits up, and pulls her lips free from Villanelle’s, catching her breath. “This was a lot sexier in theory than in execution.”

“Bedroom?” Villanelle pants.

“Let’s go.”

Villanelle helps Eve back down to the ground, and she kicks her jeans off and leads Villanelle to the stairs, trotting up them, pantsless.

Eve drags Villanelle by the hand into her bedroom. As soon as they enter, Villanelle laughs. “That is the tiniest bed I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a twin,” Eve says defensively.

“Are there any _real_ beds in this house?”

“I’d really rather not use the master bedroom. I don’t even wanna think about what Carolyn and Konstantin have–”

“Ew, ew, ew, don’t say it,” Villanelle cries. “The twin will do.”

Eve takes her hand again and pulls her over to the bed. They recommence the undressing process; this time, since their flow has already been interrupted, opting for speed and practicality rather than sexiness.

Villanelle stares up at the wall above the headboard, where Eve had placed her Buffy the Vampire Slayer poster, the only one of her old decorations she’d taken care to replace.

“You have a thing for vampires?” Villanelle asks as she pulls her shirt over her head.

“She’s not a vampire,” Eve corrects her, as she unhooks her own bra and tosses it across the room. “She slays them.”

“So you have a thing for blondes?”

“You already knew that.” Eve grins and grabs Villanelle by the chin, pulling her close for another kiss. Is that a hint of maple syrup she tastes?

Eve lies back onto her bed, while Villanelle climbs on top. It’s small, there’s no denying that. As Villanelle straddles Eve, each of her knees are practically on the edges of the mattress. Eve grabs her shoulders to steady her and ensure she doesn’t fall off. 

Villanelle kisses Eve one last time, finishing off with a nip at her lower lip, before taking a hand down between Eve’s legs, rubbing gently at her clit as she grows wet. Eve closes her eyes and begins to stroke her nipples while Villanelle does her work. 

“Lube?” Villanelle asks.

Eve opens her eyes. “Nightstand.” She reaches over to pull open the small drawer and passes the bottle to Villanelle, who carefully pours some onto her right hand. Then, she uses her other arm to steady herself, placing it just to the side of Eve’s head, and begins again, slipping two fingers inside Eve.

Eve shifts her hips to accommodate Villanelle’s rhythm. A few pumps, as Eve grows used to it. Villanelle withdraws, then adds a third finger. Eve sighs into it. She feels herself growing warmer with arousal, and reaches her arms up to grip onto the headboard.

Villanelle dips and places a trail of kisses down Eve’s stomach, leading from her belly button, all the way down, until she teases at Eve’s clit with her tongue. Eve’s breathing quickens.

“You like it?”

“More,” Eve manages through gritted teeth.

Villanelle’s hand slips out again, then back. Four fingers. Eve aches with pleasure. 

Villanelle keeps moving, slowly but steady. Eve admires the curve of her arms, the ripple of her muscles all the way up to her shoulder as she keeps her momentum.

“Give it to me,” Eve says, angling her hips upward to greet Villanelle’s fingers.

So Villanelle does. Out, then in – a hitch, a gasp – and her hand is inside of Eve.

Every motion is magnified a hundred times. Eve reaches up to pull Villanelle close, so she can give back what she feels. Villanelle turns her wrist; Eve kisses along her jawline. Villanelle’s fingers twitch; Eve bites at Villanelle’s earlobe. 

“God, I’m close, don’t stop–”

“How does it feel, Eve?”

“It’s…” Eve struggles to form coherent words, “it’s fucking _fff_ –”

Villanelle’s fingers curl upward all at once, hitting Eve’s G-spot. It sets off a starburst in her brain, that travels down her spine, across all her nerves, down all her extremities, like fireworks as it reaches her fingers and toes. Eve lets out a high pitched moan as she climaxes. She clenches tight, then relaxes. Villanelle exhales pure satisfaction, then gently eases her hand free.

“You are right,” Villanelle chuckles, pulling a few loose strands of hair that came free in the action. “We could not have managed that on top of the piano.” 

She tries to lower herself onto the bed next to Eve. It’s hard. Forget spooning, they have to press together like sardines in a tin to fit side by side on the tiny mattress. And yet, it’s nice. They’re pressed so close, skin to skin, that Eve can feel Villanelle’s heart beat through her chest. 

“I think that performance proves that you’re feeling better,” Eve says. “No more skipping work, huh?”

“I can think of plenty of other great reasons to skip work,” Villanelle says. “And this will always be one of them.”

Eve begins to laugh, and so does Villanelle. The vibrations of Villanelle’s laugh against Eve’s back just make Eve laugh harder, and then they’re off for several minutes, until Eve’s stomach hurts.

Eventually, they catch their breath. “Hey,” Eve mumbles, from where she’s pressed inside the bed, practically against the wall. “Let me out? I gotta pee.”

Villanelle rolls off the side of the bed, allowing Eve to do the same. Although the house is empty, she slips on her underwear and shirt, because while she may be an adult now, something still freaks her out about walking around naked in the house she grew up in.

While Eve dresses, Villanelle makes herself comfortable on the bed, and slips a hand down her pants. “Take your time,” she sighs. “I’ll be here. Waiting for your return.”

“Have fun,” Eve says, rolling her eyes. Jeans feel like too much work, so she grabs a pair of sweatpants from her dresser and steps into them as she emerges into the hallway.

As she turns the corner towards the bathroom, she’s still so caught up in her afterglow bliss that she bumps right into Kenny, heading in the same direction.

Eve shrieks and clutches her heart, causing Kenny to yell out as well. 

“Sorry!” Eve gasps. “I… I didn’t realize you were home.”

Kenny reaches up to pull one of the earbuds Eve hadn’t noticed he was wearing. “Please don’t mind me,” Kenny says quickly. “Only got home a few minutes ago. I went right to my room and put my headphones in–”

“Oh, god,” Eve mutters.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Kenny says. “I mean, I heard _something,_ then I put music on so I wouldn’t hear anymore.”

“Oh, _god_.” Eve runs her fingers through her hair anxiously. This is about the second most embarrassing scenario that could happen. 

“It’s alright, really,” Kenny says, though his cheeks are pink. “You do your thing, let me just, uh, get out of your way…”

Eve tries to catch her breath. They’re both adults; Kenny knows she has sex. And judging by his face, he hasn’t spared a thought as to who she was having sex with, and doesn’t care to find out. He’ll go back into his room, and then…

The sound of the door creaking open, impatient footsteps. An irritated whine. “Eve, what’s taking so long?”

Then Villanelle rounds the corner and comes face to face with Eve and Kenny.

Kenny stares at Villanelle. Villanelle stares at Kenny. Eve buries her face in her hand and screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been wanting to write some piano smut ever since that first teaser of Villanelle with a tuning fork came out. At first I was gonna go all-in sexy and musicy, but then [that base has been covered in the best way.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219350/chapters/55589560) :) So I decided to use a more humorous and, sadly, realistic take.
> 
> btw, here's [the piece Eve played,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BkZ8ci8_k4) if you wanna hear it.
> 
> lemme know what ya think <3
> 
> and come dork out with me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable)


	11. Oh My God I Think I Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the fallout of Kenny's discovery, Eve contemplates the nature of her and Villanelle's arrangement.

_“It’s scary, but you send me back on my heels,_  
 _‘Cause while I’m getting spanked, I can’t ignore the feels.”_  
—Rachel Bloom, Jack Dolgen, Adam Schlesinger 

* * *

  
At the sight of Villanelle’s bare chest, Kenny covers his eyes and backs up fearfully, until he crashes into the wall hard enough to make the watercolor vista above his head rattle in its frame.

“Villanelle!” Eve screeches.

“What?” Villanelle says, perfectly unbothered.

“Cover yourself!”

Villanelle looks at Eve questioningly, but Eve reaches into the linen closet which is mercifully within reach and throws a towel at Villanelle, who reluctantly wraps it around her nude torso.

“Kenny, you can open your eyes,” Eve says.

“I’d really rather not,” Kenny whimpers, collapsed against the wall, with both hands pressed over his face.

“There’s nothing more to see,” Eve says. 

Slowly, Kenny moves his fingers apart to peek through, then upon seeing that no one is naked anymore, lowers them from his face, which has turned a bright cherry red.

Eve takes a deep breath and tries to summon a calm tone. “Kenny, it’s–”

“‘It’s not what it looks like’?” Kenny babbles, shell-shocked.

“Well, it _is_ what it looks like…” Villanelle says, adjusting the towel around her.

“It’s not!” Eve snaps.

“She’s….” Kenny begins, but can hardly seem to form the words. “She’s our sister!”

“Stepsister,” Villanelle supplies.

“ _Future_ stepsister,” Eve corrects, “and if you’d just let me–”

“You two are _together_?” Kenny sputters.

“No!” Eve exclaims. “We’re… just…”

“We are just having meaningless sex,” Villanelle supplies.

“That’s worse?” Kenny stammers. “I mean, I think that’s worse?”

“I did not intend for you to see this,” Eve says, trying to remain calm. “We did not intend for any of you to find out…”

“This is too much,” Kenny says, shaking his head. “I need to go.”

“Wait!” Eve calls, but it’s too late; Kenny’s already making a beeline back to his bedroom.

Villanelle watches Kenny run off and slam his bedroom door, then swings around to Eve with a shit-eating grin. “He seems really cool about it.”

“Shut up and go put your shirt on while I deal with this.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and drops the towel on the floor as she marches back to Eve’s room. Eve bites back the urge to yell again, tosses the towel in the hamper, then creeps across the hall to Kenny’s door, pressing it open with a gentle creak.

“Hey, buddy,” she croons.

Kenny sits on his bed, hunched over one of his textbooks, focusing so hard it looks like his head might explode. “We don’t need to talk about it,” he grunts. 

“We kind of do.”

“Please, Eve,” Kenny says, still refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s not a big deal,” Eve says. “Just a stupid physical attraction we had to get out of our systems.”

“I don’t need to hear this…” Kenny says, keeping laser focus on his book.

“And it started before we knew.”

“What?” Kenny finally disengages from his textbook and looks up at Eve.

“I met Villanelle before Konstantin,” Eve says. “We flirted, we hooked up… We didn’t even know each other’s names. Then, we found out the circumstances.”

Kenny’s voice shoots up in pitch as he demands, “And you didn’t stop?”

“We did!” Eve says. “But then we… un-stopped.”

“What exactly is the plan, here?” Kenny says. “Are you going to continue until Mum walks in on you two and has a heart attack?”

“No!” Eve says. “She’ll never find out. Besides, we aren’t crazy. We know this has a deadline.”

“Deadline?”

“The wedding,” Eve says. “Obviously we’re going to stop before the wedding. Then it’d be weird.”

“Right,” Kenny deadpans. “ _That’s_ when it becomes weird.”

His tone is cold. Eve fears, for the first time, that perhaps she’s already gone too far, already damaged something irreparably.

“Are we going to be okay?” Eve says. Kenny doesn’t respond. She sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Because the last thing I want to do is make things weird between us. I need you, Kenny. You’re the only person in this house that keeps me sane.”

Kenny remains silent, curled up, arms around his knees, staring at his bedspread.

“Say the word and it’s all over,” Eve says. “A distant memory. No. Not even. It’s deleted. Poof.”

“It’s a free country,” Kenny mumbles. 

“Are you sure?” Eve blurts, a little too excitedly.

“I’d feel weirder knowing you’re not having sex specifically because of me, than if you are doing it independent of me.”

“Thank you, Kenny, and I’m sorry, I–”

Kenny cuts her off. “I’m not going to say anything else on the matter, and all I ask is that I really, _really_ don’t want to hear any more about it.”

“Alright.”

“Or see it. Please?”

“Of course,” Eve says. “Won’t happen again.”

Eve throws her arms around Kenny and squeezes. He doesn’t return the hug, but she can tell from the way his shoulders drop their tension that the two of them will be okay. When she releases him, he gives the tiniest smile, before picking up his textbook again.

As she goes to the door, Kenny’s voice stops her.

“Elena was right.” A pause. “She always is.”

Eve returns to her room to find Villanelle still shirtless, having ignored Eve’s main instruction. Now, she’s crouched over one of the cardboard boxes of Eve’s childhood things, rifling through it like a very nosy burglar. 

She looks up at Eve’s entrance, and holds up two of Eve’s debate trophies in either hand. “This explains a lot.”

“Thanks, by the way,” Eve grumbles. “You really couldn’t have put clothes on before parading around the house?”

“You said no one was home,” Villanelle protests. Then, before Eve can even form a response with the proper level of anger, she’s pulled out another object from the box. One of the several spy novels that Eve collected throughout her teens. “What’s with all these?”

Eve sighs and sits down on the floor next to Villanelle. “I had a big spy phase,” she explains. “There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to become a secret agent in the FBI.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Eve laughs. Villanelle stares, waiting for an answer. So Eve says, “It’s not really the most practical career. It’s not easy to get into.”

“But with your friend Bill also working for intelligence – he must have contacts who could help, no?” Villanelle says. “Not to mention Carolyn. It’s practically the family business.”

“It was a fantasy I had in high school,” Eve says. “I moved on.” 

Villanelle looks thoughtful, like she wants to interrogate Eve further on the matter, but instead asks, “What did you tell Kenny?”

“Put a shirt on,” Eve grumbles.

“Why?” Villanelle smirks. “Don’t you like the view?”

“Put a shirt on.”

Villanelle frowns, but goes to retrieve her shirt from where it was tossed earlier. “What did you say?”

“It didn’t matter what I said, because he didn’t want to hear about it. But in any case, I don’t think we need to worry about him telling anyone else.”

“You explained that it’s just physical?”

“Yeah.”

“No feelings.”

“Exactly,” Eve says. “No feelings.”

“And it ends June third.”

“That’s what I told him.”

Villanelle seems satisfied at this, and asks no further questions. 

No feelings. Ends June third. Exactly what they’d said from the start. So they made a little slip-up. Accidents happen, Eve reminds herself. This one could have turned out a lot worse. But they’re going to be okay. 

So long as they stick to the rules. As much meaningless sex as they want, for three months. No strings. No complication. No muss, no fuss, and most of all, no feelings.

* * *

Days go by, and Eve and Villanelle continue as they are. They learned an important lesson from the day in Eve’s bedroom, and swore to never get together at the house anymore, sticking to Villanelle’s apartment instead. Almost every day, Eve will wait for whenever Villanelle is finished with a suitable amount of work for the day, then swing by her apartment for some monkey business, then head back home.

After another week, it’s become a well-oiled routine. Eve ought to be relaxed, and yet, more and more, she finds herself unable to focus. No matter what she’s occupied with, her mind drifts.

Even as she heads to Villanelle’s, which should be the optimal distraction, her mind returns to several memories from the previous day, which are innocuous individually, but when combined, represent concerning pieces of evidence. 

**Exhibit A:**

Eve opens the file LuciTech emailed to her. A contract. Twelve pages, small print. She groans. She’ll have to slog through it sometime, so she may as well get started now. Make some attempt to be productive in the morning, so she can feel alright if she ends up going over to Villanelle’s apartment later.

By the third paragraph, defining the terms of new her job title in excruciatingly dry detail, Eve’s mind already wanders. She’s bored. Should she text Villanelle the news about the contract? Then they could go out to celebrate, and–

No. That’s a bad idea. The day of Eve’s interview was the day of their big fight, and Eve doesn’t want to risk reminding Villanelle of that. Besides, even before the fight, things were getting a little too cozy. A little too murky. Steer far away from that. She’ll find another time to break the news, in person, maybe.

Eve returns to reading the contract. She reads the third paragraph four times before realizing she still hasn’t processed the words, and gives up. Maybe she’ll focus better after a break.

She fires up her browser. A quick trip through the real news, then it’s on to the fake news, since The Onion never fails to make her laugh. A few good chuckles as their satirical takes on current events, but then, Eve scans a headline that makes her snort out loud: _“Study shows claiming ‘I’m not sick’ raises body temperature by 1˚F”._ She giggles excitedly as she pastes the link in a message to Villanelle.

  
**Exhibit B:**

Two minutes since she sent the article. No reply yet. Maybe Villanelle’s wrapped up in her work?

Nine minutes. Maybe Villanelle didn’t hear the buzz. Eve debates sending a follow up to the link. A simple _“Saw this, thought of you”_? No, that’s basic as hell. _“You didn’t tell me you took part in a medical study”_? Stupid. Change the subject completely? A double text like that is even more pathetic.

Twenty-three minutes. Okay, what kind of psycho works for more than twenty minutes at a time without taking a phone break, anyway? 

Thirty-four minutes. She’s definitely seen it by now, but she hated it. Probably she’s questioning her entire involvement with Eve. Beginning the process of ghosting. Looking for a new hookup already.

Eve paces the length of her bedroom. Thirty-five minutes and counting. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. What could possibly occupy Villanelle for thirty-seven minutes? There must be a logical explanation, there must–

Then she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Hair disheveled, eyes wild, Eve looks like a lone survivor of a plane crash on a deserted island, hunched over her phone like it’s her only chance at rescue.

She needs to take a break.

She goes down to the kitchen to make herself an afternoon coffee. She puts her phone down in the dining room. She doesn’t need to stare at it. Surely, she can wait the five minutes while her coffee brews without fixating on a notification, or lack thereof.

When she hears the buzz, she catapults herself across the kitchen and pounces on her phone like a leopard.

It’s a message from Carolyn: _“Home for dinner tonight?”_

Eve drops her head against the cool wood of the table with a _thunk._

Then, another buzz. Wary, Eve turns her head to the side and pops an eye open. She flips her phone so the screen comes into view.

_“I wasn’t sick. It was a temporary spike in body heat.”_

Eve guffaws and begins typing her response.

  
**Exhibit C:**

A few hours later, Eve returns home from Villanelle’s apartment. She hadn’t managed to mention the job offer, owing to incredible, nearly wordless lovemaking that began the minute she walked in the door. Eve’s not too worried about it anymore – she’s not worried about much of anything, after the things Villanelle did to her that afternoon.

Now, Eve sees she’s made it home just in time to help cook dinner. Carolyn delegates the job of vegetable prep to Eve immediately as she walks in, which ordinarily Eve might find curt, but now, she’s happy to take up the task.

Eve peels potatoes one by one over the sink, then passes the naked ones over to Konstantin, who drops them into the boiling water, while Carolyn works on preparing the chicken.

“What’s gotten into you?” Carolyn asks sharply.

“What?” Eve says, wondering if she missed something while lost in her idle peeling daydreams.

“You’re grinning like an ape.” Carolyn looks down at Eve’s hands disapprovingly, questioning what could possibly be so enthralling about tubers.

“I’m just happy,” Eve says with a shrug.

“Whatever for?”

“I got a job offer,” Eve says, surprising herself as the words come out of her mouth.

Konstantin turns away from the stove to join the conversation. “From the other day?”

“Yeah,” Eve says. “VP of Marketing at LuciTech.”

“That is wonderful!” Konstantin says. Eve notes that perhaps she’s solved the problem of how to break the news to Villanelle: Konstantin will surely text her about it, saving Eve the trouble.

“Well done,” is all Carolyn has to offer. Eve can’t stand it when her mother looks at her like this. Like she’s a dog that’s just done a trick as instructed.

“We should open a bottle of wine,” Konstantin says. “One of the nice ones.”

“Those are for company,” Carolyn says. 

“And when is the last time you used one of them?” Konstantin takes Carolyn in his arms and gives her a quick kiss. “Watch the stove. I’m going to pick out a nice bottle.”

Carolyn moves to take Konstantin’s place, but spares a glance over her shoulder to Eve once more. She has always had a penetrating sort of glance, like an X-ray, that makes Eve nervous anytime she lies to her. It’s never stopped her from doing so, but it makes her sweat a little extra anytime she keeps something from her mother. 

After a few seconds, Carolyn turns her watchful glare back to the potatoes bobbing in the pot. Eve goes back to her peeling. But her smile fades.

* * *

Exhibits A, B, and C, when combined, paint a clear picture. The prosecution rests, and Eve can ignore it no longer.

“Oh, crap,” she groans.

“Eve,” Villanelle says, lifting her head a few inches from her pillow to glare down at Eve at the end of the bed. “‘Oh crap’ is not a phrase I want to hear while you’re eating me out.”

“Sorry,” Eve mumbles. But the revelation has jarred her. It’s so obvious, so plain to see, like it’s written in neon lights on Villanelle’s body in front of her. _FEELINGS._ Flashing on and off, bright blue and blinding.

“Get back to it,” Villanelle demands, adjusting herself. So Eve does. But all the while as her tongue circles Villanelle’s clit, her brain runs on repeat, like the chugging of a train. _Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh–_

“Oh!” Villanelle moans, as Eve’s work pays off and brings her to completion. After a few weeks, they’re getting pretty damn good at getting each other off. Eve knows exactly what spots to target, exactly what motions to use to make Villanelle shake with pleasure. 

As soon as Villanelle finishes, Eve sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, facing the wall. “I think I should get home.”

“You don’t want a turn?” Villanelle says, scrambling up into a sitting position and crawling to join Eve towards the edge of the bed.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Eve says. “It’s getting late anyways, and the parents might start wondering where I am.” She says it with a joking tone, but the notion sends a pang of sadness through her.

“Poor little Eve, running home to make curfew,” Villanelle teases. “If you got your own place, you wouldn’t have that issue.”

“I’m working on it.”

“What is the hold up?” Villanelle says. “You have the money. And the job, now.”

“It’s hard to find a good apartment these days. I’m picky,” Eve sighs as she bends down to retrieve bits of her clothing strewn across the floor.

“ _I’m_ picky,” Villanelle says. “You are pathological.”

“If I’m sticking around in Boston for good, I want to find a place that’s really right. I hate moving, don’t want to pick a bum apartment and have to move again in a few months."

And Eve doesn’t say it, but a teeny voice in her head thinks: _I’m kind of liking being at home._ No. That can’t be right. She hates it. Doesn’t she?

“Live with me,” Villanelle says suddenly.

“What?” Eve looks up abruptly while trying to pull a sock on, and loses her balance, falling onto her ass with a _thud_.

“If you don’t want to be at home, be here instead,” Villanelle says with a shrug. “At least until you find someplace.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What would we tell the family?”

“Say it feels crowded at home, and you want someplace you can have more space.”

“It’s a one-bedroom!”

“Tell them you sleep on the couch,” Villanelle says. “Wasn’t it your plan to sleep on a couch for three months before you got kicked out, anyway? I bet mine is nicer.”

Eve considers this as she tugs her other sock on. Villanelle’s long leather couch _is_ nicer than Bill’s…

“No,” Eve says.

“Why?”

“No,” Eve repeats. “Not an option.”

Eve finally gets to her feet, and straightens out her hair. (Ever since Bill’s “sex hair” comment a couple weeks ago, she’s been paranoid about getting caught like that again.)

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Villanelle says. “Even just for one more round.”

Eve’s chest tightens. Yes. She really, really, wants to. She tries to form the word, gets it ready to go in her throat, but then…

“No,” she says. “I have to wake up early tomorrow anyway. First day at the office.”

She goes to the door, and waits an extra second to see if Villanelle will stop her again. She doesn’t.

  
As Eve merges onto the Mass Pike, she turns on the radio. Magic 106.7 greets her with an obnoxious dance remix of some early-2000s hit she can’t place, and she turns the volume up so loud she can feel the bass vibrating in her sternum, but it still isn’t enough to drown out the chorus in her brain.

_Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title is a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeb0pFdwTBg) from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, which is one of the most incredible shows ever! You should watch it!
> 
> don't be a stranger, let me know ya thoughts in the comments or on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo


	12. Head Over Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve intends to spend her birthday alone, but the universe, and Villanelle, have other plans for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy hell we're only halfway. I write short fics. this is new territory for me...

_“Been running so hard when what I need is to unwind._  
_The voice of reason is one I left so far behind._  
_I’ve waited so long, so long to play this part,_  
_And just remembered that I’d forgotten ‘bout my heart.”_  
—The Go-Go’s

* * *

Eve wakes up on her birthday utterly alone. She couldn’t be happier.

Carolyn and Konstantin are off at some tasting with the wedding caterer, and Kenny’s picking up some extra tutoring hours. Sweetheart that he is, he asked her if she minded before he took the extra shift, and Eve said fine. She doesn’t care much about celebrating birthdays at age thirty-seven, and besides that, they have the family dinner that night, which is enough to commemorate the passage of another year.

She’s thrilled to have a day to herself, to enjoy the truly empty house. Enjoy some Me Time, draw a bubble bath, and day drink. Maybe a hot toddy, because the weather is absolutely disgusting for late March; Eve peeks through the curtains to see half-frozen rain falling in slushy sheets. _Ah, New England._

She takes her sweet time drinking her morning coffee (she’ll give it at least an hour before she swaps to an Irish), nibbling at her scrambled eggs and scrolling her phone. An ad pops up in her feed for a free daily horoscope. She doesn’t usually bother with that crap; birthstone has always felt more important to her as a birthdate-identity than the position of stars in the sky when she was born. She adjusts the aquamarine ring on her finger instinctively as she clicks horoscope link. Just once, she’ll check it out, since it’s her birthday. 

_Aries: Love comes where you least expect it – today the hotties will fall at your feet!_

Eve snorts. Sure. It’d be nice to have even one single “hottie” falling around her who is not part of her family. That’d be a nice birthday present, but she isn’t holding her breath for it. At this point, she’s beginning to accept the reality of becoming an old maid. But at least this random horoscope site believes in her. 

Then, a text from Villanelle distracts her. _Heard the parents are out. Can I come over?_

At least she can enjoy one stupid fling for a couple more months before she drifts into spinsterhood. Eve types out a reply: _Sure._

_Good. Because I’m already here._

The doorbell rings, and Eve can’t help but grin as she goes to answer it. Villanelle stands on the stoop, protected from the freezing rain by an icy umbrella. Her blonde hair is braided in a crown atop her head, and she’s bundled up in a thick coat with a fluffy blue fur lining along the hood. 

“Happy birthday!” she shouts, and immediately barrels through the doorway to throw her arms around Eve. 

“Thanks,” Eve gasps, through the iron grip around her chest. “But can you please let go? You’re really wet and cold.”

Villanelle releases her, and tosses down her umbrella. “You need to go change, anyway. I am taking you out.”

“Out?” Eve says. “I’d really rather stay in.”

“It’s your birthday!”

“And it’s disgusting outside,” Eve replies. “I’m glad you’re here, though. Sit with me. Have some breakfast.”

So they do. Eve makes another round of coffee (this one gets a little whiskey in it) and breaks out the nice blueberry muffins she was saving for later. 

Villanelle keeps obsessively running to the window every few minutes, and it isn’t long before she lets out a cry of triumph, and shows Eve that the rain has ceased. “Go put on your favorite Target sweater,” she commands. “I’m taking you out whether you like it or not.”

Eve returns downstairs in a few minutes, in her favorite navy turtleneck and her nicest, thick gray wool coat. If she’s going out on the town, she might as well try to look hot as well as warm. Villanelle’s hoot of approval tells her she’s done well. 

“How cold is it?” She asks as she puts on her boots.

Villanelle pulls up the weather app on her phone, and Eve peers over her shoulder. “Negative eight?” she screeches. “No fucking way. Nope!” Then, it dawns on her. She pulls out her own phone to compare. “Seventeen. Okay,” she exhales. “That’s still bad, but doable.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Eve, if you want to be an agent working international crime cases, you should get familiar with Celsius.”

Eve glares back. “And if you’re going to stick around in America, you should learn Fahrenheit.” She motions for Villanelle to lead the way.

While Eve locks the door behind her, Villanelle starts out down the garden path, and takes only one step before slipping quite impressively and landing on her back like a cartoon character.

“Watch out, Eve,” Villanelle groans, stretching her neck to make sure it’s not injured. “There’s black ice around here.”

While helping her up, Eve wishes she could look into the camera like she’s on a TV show. _Real subtle, daily horoscope._ “I think this is a sign we should stay in,” she says.

“No way,” Villanelle grunts. “Hold on to me. We will make it to the car.”

They shuffle slowly down the path, holding onto each other for support, until they make it to the safety of Villanelle’s black Lexus (she’d gotten her lease back after all). 

Once the engine starts, Eve immediately holds her hands up towards the vents, desperate for heat. “I really hope whatever you have planned is indoors.”

“Partly,” Villanelle says as she pulls out on to the road. “But we can huddle for warmth. Like penguins.”

“I’ve researched, and done lots of planning,” Villanelle says as she locks the car. “I am going to show you Boston!” 

“Vill, I…” Eve says, teeth chattering. “I’m kind of familiar already.”

“But you haven’t seen it through my eyes. Come on.”

Villanelle takes Eve by the arm, leaning into her, and dragging her down the street. Luckily, downtown is busy enough that the sidewalks have been salted, and they’re not in constant danger of slipping, but the journey is still rough. And cold. Very cold. Damn if Eve won’t suffer in silence to keep her Bostonian cred, but privately, she misses Los Angeles.

“Ta-da!” Villanelle says with a sweeping gesture to the building ahead of them, with its brick facade, rows of identical arched windows, and white spire. “Faneuil Hall!”

When she notices Villanelle looking at her expectantly, Eve lets out a half hearted, “Yay”. 

“You don’t like it.”

“It’s just I’ve been here about a million times,” Eve says. “But… it’s always fun!” she adds, seeing Villanelle’s disappointment. “I can never get enough. Come on, let’s get an absurd amount of food.”

Before they can browse the offerings, they’re stopped in their tracks at the column-lined entrance to Quincy Market. A couple of street performers are busking in the small plaza in front of the market, playing a musical piece on a rack hanging water glasses. They’re so bundled up their faces can’t be seen; it’s impossible to tell the age or gender of the two musicians tapping the water glasses with mallets. 

“Why are they outside in this weather?” Villanelle asks with a frown.

“It’s wicked hard to get time slots to busk here,” Eve explains. “Gotta make the most of it.”

They watch for a few minutes as the two players continue banging on the glasses, creating a pleasingly eerie melody. One of the glasses falls off the stand and shatters on the ground. Neither player acknowledges this, nor slows at all in their performing.

“Do you think that was part of it?” Eve whispers.

“I don’t care. I liked it,” Villanelle says.

They finally enter the market, gawking at the varied food offerings. Since it’s Eve’s birthday, she throws guilt away, and they sample ramen for lunch, and some handcrafted fudge for dessert afterwards.

Then, they continue past the stores and kiosks selling touristy crap. Eve covers her face in embarrassment as Villanelle happily purchases a hat shaped like a lobster, and lowers her poofy furry hood to perch it atop her head. “How else will people know I came to Boston?” she defends herself, after Eve’s derisive look.

While Eve is busy pretending she doesn’t know the woman she’s walking with, Villanelle takes her by the hand. It’s hard to ignore the sudden pounding in Eve’s chest. Holding hands shouldn’t do this to her. Eve promised herself she was going to nip her unwanted feelings in the bud. Stuff them down. Compartmentalize them until they’re so tiny they might as well not exist. She’s had enough practice at that with her hatred for her mother, so why shouldn’t it work with this crush on Villanelle?

It _has_ to work, she tells herself, because the alternative, if she can’t control these feelings, is to cut herself off from the source. To stop sneaking around with Villanelle entirely – no sex, no texting, no seeing each other except for mandated family gatherings. And Eve really, really doesn’t want to do that. Because for the first time in a really long while, she’s enjoying herself. 

She doesn’t want to question this on her birthday, of all days. She doesn’t want it to turn into angst. So Eve decides right then: three months of Villanelle is better than nothing at all. She accepts that her heart will break when their agreement times out, but resolves to make the absolute most of it in the meantime.

All that from a handhold. Through two layers of gloves, no less.

Villanelle stops them short and points. “Look, Eve! It is the bar from Cheers!”

Eve bites back a smile. How is Villanelle always this excited, at the most mundane of things?

“When I was growing up in Russia, watching Cheers was how I learned about America,” Villanelle says, as she drags Eve down the steps. “Do you think there will be jolly alcoholics and a rude Italian waitress?” She takes the stairs two at a time and begins to warble, “Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got!”

Everyone inside the bar turns to stare at the crazy Russian in the lobster hat belting out the Cheers theme song with no trace of inhibition. Eve almost covers her face again, but then, as Villanelle orders them both pints of beer, she asks herself, _why?_ Or rather, _why not?_

She toasts with Villanelle, and takes a huge sip of beer, then slaps her hand against the bar to the beat, and joins in, singing, “Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name!”

  
Two beers later, feeling considerably warmer, Eve and Villanelle teeter their way up the stairs back into Quincy Market. 

“It’s getting late,” Villanelle says. “Shall we go pick up Irina, then head to the restaurant?”

“You go pick up Irina,” Eve says. “I need to meet Carolyn before dinner.”

“You want to be alone with her?” Villanelle asks. “Are you feeling okay?”

“It’s a thing we do,” Eve sighs, then leads Villanelle back inside the warmth of the market, ducking to the side of foot traffic to explain. “Every single year, since I turned five, on my birthday, Carolyn asks if I want to know who my birth parents are. Now that I think about it, she probably did even before that, and I just can’t remember. And every single year, I say no.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Of course I want to know. I want to know more than anything,” Eve explains. “But I also know that knowing will make me unhappy.”

Villanelle furrows her brow. “I thought, with the way things are between you and her, you’d want any alternative…”

“Say I do find out,” Eve begins. “Maybe it turns out they’re even worse than her, and it drags me down even more. Plus I get to feel like an asshole forever for thinking my adoptive mom isn’t enough. But that’s not even the worst case. Say they’re amazing people, the best you could possibly imagine… then… why did they leave me?”

A few seconds pass and the air begins to feel thick. “Oh, I get it!” Villanelle exclaims, breaking the awkward silence. “You are like Little Orphan Annie.”

“Excuse me?” Eve stammers.

“You don’t know Annie?” Villanelle asks. “I thought it was an American thing. The first time we ever came to the U.S. when I was six years old, Mom and Dad took me to that show, the audience was packed.”

“I _know_ Annie,” Eve says. “I just hate it.”

“Forgive me for bringing it up.”

“How am I like Annie?”

“Maybe, maybe…” Villanelle babbles a vague melody. “That’s what she sings over and over, yes? I didn’t speak much English back then but I remember that word.”

Eve says nothing. 

So Villanelle goes on. “Imagining is better than knowing, sometimes.” She stares thoughtfully into the distance. “Like this one time, I could not stop thinking about my French tutor. She was a private tutor Konstantin set me up with to get me up to speed with French as fast as possible, because he was thinking of moving us to Paris. Anyways, while she was teaching all I could think about was railing her. Absolutely plowing her to bits. It got me so hot. Definitely slowed down my learning process. I could have been fluent in a month if I wasn’t distracted. It was really clouding my mind so I thought, if I just do it, that will clear my head, yes?”

Villanelle pauses to look at Eve, who is absolutely agape. Then shrugs and sums it up. “Like I said. Sometimes imagining is better than knowing.”

Eve doesn’t know what to say to that, so she lets the story stand without further question. As they approach the exit to the harsh outdoors, Eve tugs at her glove, but it won’t go on.

Villanelle notices Eve has stopped, and turns with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s snagged on my ring.”

Villanelle takes Eve’s hand, and pulls the glove away. She looks closely at Eve’s aquamarine ring and her lips form a silent “wow”, which Eve hardly thinks is merited; it’s not diamond-level bling. But then she gently tugs the wool of Eve’s glove free from the ring and over her hand.

Villanelle’s hand on hers brings back the rush of fear from earlier. The dam of Eve’s compartmentalization is cracking, and if she isn’t careful the flood of feelings might destroy everything she’s built. Eve breaks away, ready to go outside and face the cold again. 

As she emerges onto the exit steps of Quincy Market, the earth disappears from beneath her and the sky flips over. She tumbles, even more spectacularly than Villanelle did earlier, landing on her side. And Villanelle laughs.

“Shut up!” Eve snaps.

“Did you break a hip, grandma?”

“Are you going to leave me here? On my _birthday?_ ”

“I think at thirty-seven you can take care of yourself,” Villanelle snorts. Then reaches a mittened hand down to Eve.

Eve stands, stretching her legs. She can already feel the huge bruise that’s sure to blossom on her butt after this. As they start to walk back in the direction of the car, she spares one last glance at the pair of buskers, still going strong with their musical glasses. They’ve been out there for hours, now, and it can’t be comfortable, but they endure the cold for their passion. There’s a lesson there, that Eve might be able to appreciate more if not for the Irish coffee and three beers in her.

  
When Eve arrives at the restaurant, she finds Carolyn already seated, looking rather lonely at the table for seven, folding and refolding her napkin.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Eve says, taking off her coat.

“Only eight minutes or so.” Carolyn looks down at her watch. “Nine.”

Eve forces a polite nod. Of course she kept exact time. “How was the tasting?”

“Quite satisfactory,” Carolyn says. “But I’d like to talk about you. It’s your birthday.” She blinks, then adds, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No!” Eve says, a little too quickly. Does Carolyn know? That possibility hadn’t crossed her mind until now, but if she knows, well, that would certainly cement this as her worst birthday ever.

Luckily, Carolyn continues on without a trace of suspicion. “Have you seen anyone since Niko?” Just the normal motherly guilt, then. 

“Do we have to do this?” Eve asks.

“I feel it’s appropriate to make some token effort to know what’s going on in my daughter’s life.”

“You really don’t have to.”

Eve’s deflection hangs in the air for a few seconds, until Carolyn plows ahead with renewed energy. “Well then. Another year has passed. Would you like to know?”

It’s merely tradition, of course, that Carolyn still asks her this. Ever since she turned eighteen, Eve could go try to contact her birth parents on her own, if she wanted to.

“No,” Eve says. “Thank you.”

Carolyn nods, and smiles just slightly. It occurs to Eve, for the first time in thirty-two years that Carolyn has asked her this question, that this tradition might not be for Eve at all. It might be for Carolyn. Is there a hint of insecurity behind it?

But no. As soon as the thought occurs to her, she dismisses it. “Insecurity” and “Carolyn” are two words that don’t belong in the same sentence, the same paragraph, even. 

“Happy birthday, Eve,” Carolyn says. “You’re the same age now that I was when Kenny was born.”

“Gee, that makes me feel a lot better about where I am,” Eve mutters.

Carolyn picks up her water glass and swishes it before taking a tiny sip. “Life loves to catch one with one’s pants down.” She replaces her glass on the table, then adds, “But it’s not always for the worst.”

“I guess so,” Eve affirms, though she has no idea what on Earth Carolyn is talking about.

Then, the rest of the family appears. Konstantin, Kenny, and Elena join them at the table with a chorus of “hello”s and “Happy birthday, Eve”s. A minute later, Villanelle and Irina appear, and the table fills with happy chatter as the meal begins.

When the server brings by a slice of cheesecake with a candle in it, and the entire family sings an off-key chorus of “Happy Birthday”, Eve reflects. She’s spent so much of her life running away from her family, keeping as much distance as she can. Perhaps her thirty-eighth year is a chance to let them just a little bit closer.

As they finish the song, Irina launches into a chant, “Are you one? Are you two?…” but then Kenny shushes her affectionately. “Let her blow out the candle first! If you count all the way, then it’ll melt and wax will get on the cake!” Elena laughs and squeezes Kenny’s arm. Konstantin, and even Carolyn watch Eve with the expectant kindness that parents are meant to have. Finally, Eve looks to Villanelle, who’s staring down at her plate silently. 

As Eve blows out the candle, her wish is less directed at the universe, and more directed at herself. _Please,_ she begs herself. _Don’t mess this up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you ask, astrology hoes, there's no significance to Eve being an Aries other than it matching up with the current time frame of when the story is taking place. ;)
> 
> on a fun note, here's a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uZynKCs2OZ1gxKmYX4XDG?si=DOzpwavIRaqy384_Ut_eqw) of all the songs from this fic! I'll update it as new chapters are added. 
> 
> lemme know what you think or come chat me up on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo


	13. Love On Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle escape a family outing for some plans of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #ImagineMeAndYousday #CancelFixy

_“Everybody asks me why I’m smiling out from ear to ear._  
_(They say that love hurts; it’s gonna take a little work.)_  
_Nothing’s perfect, but it’s worth it after fighting through my tears._  
_Finally, you put me first.”_  
—Beyoncé

* * *

  
**Happy Family group chat**

Konstantin: Beautiful weather today!

Kenny: yep ☀️

Villanelle: and only a week ago it was freezing

Carolyn: Massachusetts is known for rapidly changing weather.

Villanelle: too bad it couldn’t be like this on your birthday, Eve 🥶🥶🥶

Eve: it’s nice anyway

Irina: stop talking about how nice it is when some of us have to be at SCHOOL

Konstantin: C, can I tell them?

Carolyn: Go ahead.

Konstantin: How about a family trip today? We can all play hooky from work or school and go to the beach.

Irina: YES

Konstantin: Kenny, you should invite Elena too

Irina: YES

Kenny: hold on I’ll have to check but it sounds fun

Irina: GET ME OUT OF HERE

Konstantin: V? Eve?

  
**iMessage with Villanelle Vasilieva**

Villanelle: we are not going to the beach.

Eve: uhh   
Eve: Good morning to you, too

Villanelle: we have to come up with something to get out of it

Eve: you don’t want to go? Figured you for a beach type

Villanelle: I like the beach  
Villanelle: What I don’t like is a crowded pile of gravel on the Atlantic that’s covered in trash and needles

Eve: sorry the bay state beaches aren’t up to your world class standards but this is what we got

Villanelle: and where I can’t even do the things that make the beach most fun because the family is there

Eve: 👀  
Eve: OK, I’m listening now

Villanelle: in the group, say that you are not feeling well

Eve: why don’t you say it if you don’t want to go?

Villanelle: It has to be you. 

Eve: don’t say it

Villanelle: My dad wouldn’t believe me, because I don’t get sick.

Eve: 🙄 keep telling yourself that.   
Eve: there’s been enough lying already, I’m not piling more on

Villanelle: please

Eve: no

Villanelle: PLEASE

Eve: Fine

**Happy Family group chat**

Konstantin: Eve? V?

Carolyn: Kenny, go knock on Eve’s door and ask her.

Kenny: mum wait she’s typing

Eve: sounds fun, but I can’t make it, feeling sick

Villanelle: Oh NO! Is it that stomach flu? 🤢

Eve: Sure

Kenny: uh oh 

Villanelle: Are you going to be alright?  
Villanelle: Sorry everyone, but I think I should stay back to take care of Eve.

Carolyn: I don’t think that’s necessary. She’s more than capable of looking after herself

Villanelle: Even if it’s not necessary, I know she’d do the same thing for me

Irina: suck upppp  
Irina: have fun inside losers

Carolyn: Eve, if you’re going to be sick, use the bin. The plumbing has been acting up lately.

Eve: … will do

* * *

  
A few minutes later, a knock, and Eve’s bedroom door opens a crack. Kenny peers through the gap with a disapproving glare. “I’m choosing to believe you’re really and truly ill.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. You’re too hoarse,” Kenny says. A hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Have fun at the beach.”

“Have fun bent over the bin all day.”

* * *

**iMessage with Villanelle Vasilieva**

Eve: please tell me there’s a good reason why I’m lying in bed with a wastebasket next to me until the family leaves

Villanelle: don’t you trust me?

Eve: No

Villanelle: I have a plan

Eve: then what is it?

Villanelle: I almost have a plan

Eve: there it is…

Villanelle: have some patience. I need to make a call

_(27 minutes later)_

Eve: hello???

Villanelle: I will pick you up in 30. Pack sunscreen

Eve: wait where are we going  
Eve: Vill???  
Eve: where are we going  
Eve: Do I need a bathing suit or what?

Villanelle: No

Eve: ????

Villanelle: 😉

* * *

“Do I get a hint?” Eve asks as she plays with the air conditioning vent, angling it so the cool air blasts her in the face. It’s over seventy degrees, in a shocking brief heat wave that has all the local meteorologists chirping excitedly, happy to offer good news to Bostonians for once. Perfect sunny weather, so Eve is a bit annoyed for once not to be with the rest of the family. Crowded or not, the beach is the place to be today.

“I have a friend, Anne-Laure, in Paris,” Villanelle says as she swings the car around a corner. “Actually, she is not so much my friend… Sometimes I am a third for her and her husband.”

Her eyes dart over to Eve, looking for a reaction, and Eve does her level best to keep her expression utterly unsurprised. “And?”

Disappointed, Villanelle continues, “And, he is a hotelier, and has connections at luxury chains here – short version, my friends are getting us special access to some high places.”

“How high?”

“You will see.”

After parking in the hotel garage, exchanging a few words in French with the woman at the front desk, and receiving a silver key-card in return, Villanelle takes Eve by the shoulder and guides her to the elevator which takes them up, up, up. It silently glides to a stop and the doors open to allow Villanelle and Eve to exit onto the roof.

The sight takes Eve’s breath away. A rectangular pool with a perfectly smooth surface of cyan water is centered on the deck. A small row of lounge chairs line the edges, with a bar off to one side, and a hot tub on a small platform in the corner. It must be an exclusive oasis for only the top paying guests.

“Why isn’t anyone up here?” Eve asks. “It’s the perfect day for it.”

“Because that’s the kind of favor I pull,” Villanelle says. “We have all this to ourselves.”

“What did you do to get this kind of favor?” 

“I managed Pierre’s portfolio for a year and made him hundreds of thousands of Euros,” Villanelle says casually. “Also did a few _other_ things he liked.” She drops her designer bag on one of the lounge chairs and begins stretching her arms out, like she’s trying to rid herself of stiffness.

Eve suddenly feels a burning urge to break off the conversation, so she strolls off for a quick walk around the perimeter of the pool. The rooftop is lined with a tall matte-black wooden fence. If Eve peers through the gaps, she sees a sprawling view of downtown Boston, but the fence prevents anyone outside from seeing in. That is, unless there are perverts flying above them in a helicopter.

“Now I see why we didn’t need bathing su–” Eve’s jaw drops leaving the last syllable hanging, as she turns around and takes in the sight of Villanelle, stripped naked, poised at the deep end of the pool. Villanelle raises her arms above her head, crouches, then dives in.

Once the swarm of bubbles clears, Eve can clearly see the silhouette of Villanelle’s body as it glides deep in the water. She resurfaces a few seconds later at the shallow end, taking in a gasp of air and blinking pool water from her eyes. She stands and approaches the pool’s edge, placing her chin into her hands on the ledge, looking up at Eve sweetly. “Eve,” she purrs. “Strip for me?”

Eve stares down at Villanelle, raising one eyebrow. Villanelle face bears all the hope of a child on Christmas morning. Eve sighs. “I need music.”

Villanelle begins humming a melody that sounds poppy enough though Eve can’t place it – she’s not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know the song, or because Villanelle is so off-key. Still she loosens up, begins swaying to the music, and turns around. She unbuttons her linen shirt one button at a time, the pops a leg as she slides the shirt off her shoulders in one fine gesture. She pivots around like a dancer, then tosses the shirt at Villanelle’s face, causing the music to pause and turn into a squeal of delight. 

The shoes fly off with a one-two combination of high kicks, and fly off in arcs – it’s a good thing they have the pool to themselves, or Eve’s shoes surely would’ve beaned some suntanning WASPy hotel guests in the head. Next, the shorts, though it’s a challenge to unbutton the fly while she shakes her hips side to side. Once she manages that, it’s time to the big finale. Pow – unhooking the bra. Bam! Boobies out. Ta-da! Panties off. Now stripped to her birthday suit, Eve takes a bow with a flourish to the enthusiastic applause of the audience of one.

Eve bends onto her knees and crawls over to Villanelle’s leather tote where it sits atop one of the poolside lounge chairs. She shakes her ass tantalizingly to a giggle of approval, while she rifles through the bag’s contents, and discovers what items Villanelle decided are important for a beach day. Not kites or volleyballs or frisbees, but rather, an entirely different set of toys.

“You came prepared,” she comments.

“While I was talking with Anne-Laure, she reminded me of some entertaining times we had,” Villanelle says. “It made me realize how long it’s been since I had _real_ fun.”

Eve looks down at the bag. _Challenge accepted._ If Villanelle’s going to play it that way, then Eve will show just that she can be just as fun as any pair of Parisian swingers. As her fingers close around the next item, she knows exactly how she’ll show Villanelle who’s boss.

“Turn around,” she says.

“Why, are you embarrassed? I’ve seen you naked lots of times.”

“Turn around,” she repeats, firmer this time.

Villanelle rolls her eyes, turns, stalks over to the edge of the pool, and dives in. She swims a few laps while Eve prepares.

When Villanelle surfaces for air at the end of her fourth lap, she stops and blinks water out of her eyes. Then she grabs onto the edge of the pool for support. “That is... not what I was expecting.”

She looks up at Eve, who towers over her at the pool’s edge, now outfitted into a black harness fitted with a gently curved silver dildo.

“You brought it,” Eve says. “Don’t you want to use it?”

Behind Villanelle’s classic, inscrutably blank look, Eve recognizes something very familiar to her: Villanelle is trying to hide her surprise. Well, _let_ her be surprised. If Villanelle ever doubts that Eve can be just as exciting as her other “friends” across the globe, Eve wants to debunk that idea immediately.

Eve sits on the edge of the pool, letting her calves dangle into the water. Meanwhile, Villanelle climbs out of the pool to retrieve a bottle of lube from her equipment bag. A trail of water droplets follows her across the sun-baked stone floor as she returns, and kneels next to Eve. Eve turns her head to the side to receive Villanelle’s kisses, which bear the tangy taste of chlorine. While their mouths battle furiously, Villanelle pours some oil into her hands and begins rubbing up and down the length of Eve’s strap, twisting her fingers around it in order to coat every inch thoroughly.

Eve spreads her thighs and begins turning her whole body towards Villanelle’s; she can’t help it. But Villanelle anticipates it, and she’s ready too. She climbs onto Eve’s leg, arms around Eve’s neck, and begins grinding against Eve’s thigh. She moans softly, while grasping Eve’s breasts, running her fingers over Eve’s nipples. 

Then, Villanelle climbs fully onto Eve’s lap while Eve places one hand around the small of Villanelle’s back to steady her, and with the other, reaches two fingers between Villanelle’s legs.

Villanelle falls onto Eve’s neck, taking the skin gently between her teeth. As Eve feels Villanelle’s tightness relax, she slips in a third finger, and works it in and out for a minute or so. 

Villanelle pulls herself up for air, and looks Eve in the eyes. Her cheeks are flushed peachy pink, and she nods; she’s ready. With Eve’s help, she flexes her thighs, raising herself up for a moment, then guiding herself onto Eve’s strap. A tiny gasp escapes her lips as it slides in, then she twists her hips, growing used to it. The midday sun beats down on their skin, but at the same time, it feels like the warmth is coming from within them rather than without. _We **are** the sun,_ Eve thinks. _This heat, this humidity? It all starts from here._

Together, they manage to communicate the next action without words, and both silently shift their weight so that they shuffle off the edge of the pool and plunge into the water. Bubbles swirl around their entwined bodies as they sink down, then come gently to a stop against the cool concrete bottom of the pool. Eve braces her feet against the floor, while Villanelle’s legs lift and wrap around Eve’s torso, angling herself closer. 

Eve’s fingertips dig into the soft flesh of Villanelle’s hips, twisting her closer as she thrusts her own. Hard as she can, despite the weightless sensation of the water – fuck every memory of every other person Villanelle has ever had sex with right out of her.

Eve steadies herself, and pulls back, then drives forward in a sharp burst. Villanelle’s eyelids flutter, and she lets out a small moan.

“Too much for you to take?” Eve grunts.

“No.” Villanelle’s denial is breathy and light.

“What was that?”

“No.” More conviction behind it, this time.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes,” Villanelle manages, in between Eve’s thrusts. “Give it to me.”

Eve takes Villanelle’s body, wrapped onto hers, and turns around in the water, so Villanelle’s back is against the wall. Her hips press Villanelle against the rough textured wall of the pool, and Villanelle’s head lolls back as she grips the tiled edge so tightly her knuckles turn white. Each pump, back and forth, makes Villanelle bite her lip just a bit harder. Her moaning gradually modulates into higher and higher keys as Eve drills into her.

Eve bends forward to bite Villanelle’s ear. At the same time, she thrusts while pulling villanelle’s hips back, so the dildo sinks inside Villanelle all the way. Eve feels Villanelle tense around the width of the strap. Villanelle’s stomach tightens, and a tremor runs through her whole body, top to bottom. A choked breath escapes her lips, which turns into a sigh of pleasure.

“Did Anne-Laure ever fuck you like that?” Eve whispers in Villanelle’s ear.

Villanelle lets her head fall forward, nuzzling into the hollow of Eve’s collarbone. “No one does it like you, Eve.” The vibrations of Villanelle pronouncing her name resonate in Eve’s chest and explode in a burst of warmth inside her. Once again, the sunshine inside rivals the sunshine outside, and Eve thinks, even if the temperature dropped fifty degrees at that moment, she’d be perfectly fine, so long as she stays pressed up against Villanelle.

A few minutes later, they switch to the hot tub. Villanelle perches in Eve’s lap again, but this time, they’re both sprawled out perpendicularly. One of Villanelle’s hands plays in Eve’s wet hair, while the other rests between Eve’s legs.

“I never noticed,” Villanelle says, scrunching her eyebrows together as she stares intently at Eve’s nose. “You have some freckles right here.” She reaches out her little finger and follows the path across Eve’s cheeks. As her pinky slides over the bridge of Eve’s nose, it tickles.

“Guess you’re learning a lot about me, today,” Eve says, tapping Villanelle’s nose in response, then letting her arm return to its position, wrapped around Villanelle’s back.

Villanelle flicks her head to the side so her curtain of wet hair falls behind her shoulder. She smells of sunscreen and chlorine and something else that Eve can’t place, but it’s a scent that’s grown familiar to her over the past weeks. A scent that’s uniquely _Villanelle_. Her eyes glint brightly in the sunlight as she looks up at Eve. “If I tell you some more stories about my friends, would you do that more often?” 

“If you want,” Eve says, letting her thumb graze back and forth over Villanelle’s shoulder.

“So you want to hear about the sharpshooter from Perm, or the contortionist from Rio?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Eve replies.

“They’re really good stories!” Villanelle says. “The sharpshooter is more titillating, but the contortionist has a happy ending.” She pauses, then edits: “Happi _er_.”

“Not now.”

“We have plenty of time to kill before we get pruny,” Villanelle says. “I will choose for you. It was the night before the University Games in Perm, and–”

“Would you shut up? I don’t need to hear about every person you’ve ever shagged.” Eve snaps. As soon as it escapes her lips, she immediately regrets it, and she’s forming an apology when she notices Villanelle shaking not with anger, but with laughter.

“That’s cute,” Villanelle giggles.

“What?” Eve says. Now nervous about what she’s missing.

“You use British terms when you get angry,” Villanelle says. “It’s like you’re turning into–”

“Say it and I’ll knock your teeth out,” Eve growls.

“It’s not a bad thing, Eve,” Villanelle says, now serious. “Some of us don’t have mothers to turn into.”

“Go ahead, play that Dead Mom Card again.” Eve rolls her eyes, but then she sees that Villanelle has gone quiet, staring off at one of the hot tub's drains. _Shit_. Maybe now isn’t the time to joke.

So she begins to run her fingers through Villanelle’s damp hair gently, and murmurs, “What was she like?” 

In lieu of being able to picture her, Eve imagines a slightly older, more mature version of Villanelle. As if reading Eve’s thoughts, Villanelle says, “Nothing like me. I am much more like my father. I suppose because he mostly raised me. He says I have her eyes. I don’t see it.”

“What else?”

“She was very sentimental,” Villanelle says. Now she’s staring up at the clouds. “Loved art and poetry. That is why I have this name. Villanelles were her favorite kind of poem. The repetition, she found it comforting.”

Eve nods. Some voice from deep within her left-brain nags at her to say something, but she can’t find the words; she only stares entranced, trying to see the memories reflected in Villanelle’s hazel eyes. 

“Dad wanted to call me Oksana,” Villanelle snorts. “It means ‘God is with us’. How stupid is that?”

“It would’ve been fitting,” Eve says.

The sun beats down as they stare into each other’s eyes. Villanelle’s are wide and curious, then at once they narrow, and her brows knit with the same concentration she wore a minute ago, with the discovery of the freckles. Her voice drops into her classic husky flirting voice as she asks, “Are you trying to get me to go for another round?”

A lump forms in Eve’s throat as they climb out of the hot tub. For a fleeting moment, she forgot what is going on here. She forgot the terms of their agreement: just sex, no feelings. She let herself believe for a few seconds that rather than sneaking around for a secret fuck with a soon-to-be-family member, she was on vacation, in a fancy hotel with someone she cares about, someone she would continue to be with for who knows how long. She really believed for a minute that she was soaking in a rooftop pool with a long-term companion, someone she could get to know more and more every day and never get sick of. 

Meanwhile, Villanelle has it perfectly figured out. She doesn’t show the slightest sign of struggling with their arrangement, in fact she’s happy as a clam as she runs to the edge of the pool and screeches “Cannonball!” 

She won’t be torn up in the slightest when the agreement expires, and a few years down the line she’ll seduce some other mark with the story of Eve: “Want to hear about the sharpshooter from Perm, or my stepsister?”

As her thoughts run amok, Eve lowers herself into the pool, lets Villanelle take the reins this time. This could help clear her head. This isn’t a love story, it’s a _shag story_. One which, unless Eve learns to control her feeling, is not going to go in the “happy ending” folder of Villanelle’s tales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since Niko's alive (praise be), I figured we all deserve some celebratory smut.
> 
> let me know what ya think 
> 
> or come chill on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo
> 
> P.S.: enjoy some (NSFW!!!) depictions of this chapter by [chenckino](https://twitter.com/chencckino/status/1263253827571945473?s=20) and [misunderwhat](https://twitter.com/misunderwhat/status/1274047570088726538?s=20)! (Links are both NSFW!!!!)


	14. Don't Phunk With My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some help from her friends, Eve launches a full investigation into Villanelle's feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised. Niko lives, second update this week.

_“I ain’t only here ‘cause I want your_  
 _Body, I want your mind, too._  
 _Interesting’s what I find you,_  
 _And I’m interested in the long haul._  
 _C’mon girl, yeehaw.”_  
—Black Eyed Peas

* * *

  
Thank all the gods in the world that it's finally Saturday.

Eve has just finished her first full week at her new job, and in her brief two-month hiatus from employment, she forgot how exhausting it is to work full time. Even more so, since her new position carries more responsibility than she’s ever had before. She ought to feel excited, or at least proud that she’s moved up so high – a Vice President position at a decently sized firm is nothing to sneeze at – but for some reason she only feels tired, as though she’s already been there a year.

Now, after a week full of introductions and handshakes and conference rooms and coffee breaks, Eve drags herself into the weekend like a shipwreck survivor dragging herself ashore.

On the other hand, the one upside of the exhausting work week was that it kept her mind occupied. Kept her from ruminating, thinking herself in circles. Kept her from dreaming up a life together that involved coming home to a kiss from her lover. From dreaming what it would be like to go out in public, together. To go to sleep next to each other and not have to sneak out in the morning and make some alternate excuse to the family. To walk down the street holding hands and do everything sappy and stupid that she’s never wanted to do so badly in her life until now. When she can’t. And when she knows full well that she’ll say goodbye to any shred of this connection in fewer weeks than she can count on her fingers.

The other downside to this weekend in particular is that Eve won’t even get the day to herself, since she’s been roped into going to one of Irina’s softball games with the family. Most of the family, anyway – Carolyn is off on some “leadership retreat”, or so she claims. The official story is she’s been retired from intelligence work for six years now, since she moved back to the U.S., but it’s an open secret that she’s still working for them in some capacity. She tends to disappear for days or weeks with mysterious excuses. Eve and Kenny haven’t been able to determine exactly what her new position is – F.B.I., C.I.A.? Some kind of foreign ambassador? – but they share a chuckle every time she bids them goodbye with a new alibi.

Meanwhile, as Eve sits in the passenger seat with Konstantin driving them out to Irina’s preppy boarding school west of Boston, she pulls out her phone and texts her preferred member of the intelligence force.

* * *

**iMessage with Bill Pargrave**

Eve: I need some help with the Hitachi wand again  
Eve: how are you with diagnosing mechanical issues

Bill: For Christ’s sake, can you talk normally? I can’t follow your metaphor

Eve: it’s too dangerous!

Bill: Kenny already caught you didn’t he?  
Bill: Who else is likely to see your phone?

Eve: you never know, Carolyn might use the Patriot Act to snoop on my texts

Bill: I promise you that U.S. Intelligence has more important things to worry about than your personal drama

Eve: DO you, though?

Bill: fair enough but if they want to snoop on random sex stories there are kinkier ones than yours out there

Eve: ugh   
Eve: did I tell you I strapped her?

Bill: You did not  
Bill: I’m brimming with pride

Eve: don’t underestimate me again!

Bill: That sounds peachy  
Bill: What’s the problem, then?

Eve: What would you tell someone who is maybe developing some sort of crush on said hitachi wand?

Bill: I’d say look for a good therapist

Eve: BILL

Bill: but if someone was developing feelings for a human person she’s sleeping with I’d say that’s extremely normal. Aggressively, even.

Eve: not with our situation!!  
Eve: what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Bill: Use some combination of words and actions to express how you feel?

Eve: ha ha.  
Eve: let the record show your levity is not appreciated  
Eve: This is a REAL PROBLEM

Bill: I don’t know what to tell you since you never take my advice anyway  
Bill: Does she feel the same?

Eve: That’s the thing, I can’t tell  
Eve: What do you think?

Bill: I’ve never seen you two together except for that one time at the party, so I don’t know what to tell you

* * *

Eve stares down at Bill’s final message. He’s right. She definitely needs a second perspective, but who else could she possibly talk to?

When they finally reach Irina’s school, they drive in circles for several minutes a long series of tiny campus roads until they finally find the parking lot by the softball field. The campus is sprawling, green and lush, nicer than most college campuses. Eve resists the urge to wolf whistle at all the state of the art buildings, all windows.

When they reach the field, they find Villanelle and Elena already waiting for them in the bleachers. Villanelle waves excitedly – she’s decked out in fan gear in Irina’s school’s colors. “Go Bobcats!” she bellows, in greeting.

Eve trudges up to the top level, each of her steps producing a hollow clang against the metal steps. Villanelle looks her up and down as she plops down next to her onto the bleachers.

“Aren’t you excited?” 

Eve responds with a noncommittal grunt.

“Why so cranky?”

“Tough getting used to things at work,” Eve says.

“Forget about work,” Villanelle says. “Right now, it’s very important to see which group of teenagers is athletically superior to the other.”

Eve chuckles, and then Villanelle leans in close to her ear to add: “Afterwards, we can test our own athleticism.”

While that thought sets Eve tingling, the crowd begins to cheer as the teenagers take the field. Villanelle bellows something loud and violent in Russian when Irina first steps into view. Irina bursts out laughing, while Konstantin shoots her a disapproving look.

When Villanelle sits again, Eve whispers, “What did you say?”

“I told her to make the field run red with their entrails.”

Eve stares.

“Just kidding. I said, ‘Make your family proud’.”

“Did you really?”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it.” Villanelle waggles her eyebrows, and begins clapping and hollering again.

As sweet as it is to see her support for her sister, Eve simply cannot match Villanelle’s level of enthusiasm for a high school softball game, so she leaves her and Konstantin to be the dedicated cheering section and scoots down the bench a few feet to chat with Elena and Kenny.

“Great to see you again,” she says, smiling at Elena.

“Cheers,” Elena says. “How are things with you and the missus?”

At the same moment, Eve and Kenny both snap, “Don’t call her that!” 

Elena laughs nervously. “I know why he’s so touchy about it, but why are you? I want the tea.”

“The tea?”

“The story. The details. I need it,” Elena pleads. “My friends are all so boring. I’m starved for drama.”

“Well…” Eve begins. Then she realizes: this is a golden opportunity. Here is a person who is not only willing, but begging to talk more about Eve and Villanelle’s situation. A perfect sounding board. Plus, Elena is clearly savvy with relationships, given that she spotted the spark between Eve and Villanelle before anyone else knew. “I suppose I could tell you a little.”

“I’m gonna go sit over there,” Kenny says, shooting up from his seat. “Away from this.”

Elena guffaws as Kenny scoots past the two of them to sit next to Villanelle and Konstantin. “He’s my favorite,” she sighs.

“You two seem really happy together.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Elena grins. “Somehow I’ve stumbled into a stable, healthy relationship. Now, let’s talk about your crazy, ill-advised fling.”

Eve steels herself. “Where do I even begin?”

“I want all the details. How long have you two been dating?”

“We are not _dating!_ ” Eve hisses, scooting closer so they can talk at a lower volume. “We’re just…”

“Friends with benefits?” Elena offers.

“I don’t even know if ‘friends’ is the right word.”

“But there are ‘benefits’, right?”

“In that sense, yes.”

Elena ponders for a moment, then suggests, “Fuck buddies?”

“That’s closer,” Eve admits. “But it doesn’t quite cover it.”

“Oh my god, I see what’s happening,” Elena says, eyes wide with realization. “You want more, but you haven’t told her.”

“What?” Eve’s tongue is in knots. She opens and shuts her mouth experimentally a few times before she’s able to say, “How can you tell?”

“The real question is how has no one else in your family seen it,” Elena says, smug as a bug. “It’s written all over your face.”

“I…” Eve stammers. “I…”

“Does she feel the same?”

“I don’t know!” Eve bursts out, finally completing the thought. “Honestly, it’s very confusing. Sometimes it seems like she does.”

A flipbook of memories plays in Eve’s head: 

_“Stay.”_

_“What does this make us?”_

_“Live with me.”_

Eve shakes her head to clear it. “But other times, she’s so unaffected.”

Elena raises an eyebrow. “Examples, love.”

“Um.” Eve tries to think of where to begin. “She hung out with me on my birthday. Planned a whole day, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Very promising.”

“But she also bitches at me constantly for the stupidest things. Like shopping at Target. What’s wrong with Target?”

“Some people are like that,” Elena says. “Snippy with people they like.”

“And some aren’t,” Eve counters. “She’s an enigma. There are times when she’s the bluntest of blunt, but then other times, it’s like she wants to say something but…”

Eve trails off as she looks over at Villanelle. She’s pumping her fist in the air, cheering with Konstantin. Out on the field, Irina catches a pop fly. Villanelle jumps up from her seat, cheering and roaring a passionate mix of English and Russian.

Elena’s voice pulls Eve back to reality. “You could just ask her.”

“Ha!” Eve snorts.

“Alright, then…”

“I prefer to gather intelligence before making a move.”

“Runs in the family, I see.”

“Besides,” Eve says, “It doesn’t matter in the end, does it? Even if she does feel those kind of feelings, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“If you’re a pessimist.”

“I’m not a pessimist,” Eve says. “I mean, I am, but in this case, I’m being a realist. In two months, our parents are getting married. Unless that magically changes, it casts a real pall over the chances of anything real between us.”

“And she’s not made any statements about the future?” Elena asks.

“Besides the end of our agreement, no,” Eve says. “Actually…”

“What?”

“She asked me to live with her.”

“What?” Elena gasps. “There’s your answer!”

“Nah, you don’t get it, though. That’s how she is. She’s weird like that. She said it like it was no big deal; it wasn’t an intimate thing.”

Elena rolls her eyes. “If you’re going to be stubborn about this, I’ll gather some ‘intel’ for you myself.”

Before Eve can protest, Elena calls out, “Oi! Villanelle!”

Villanelle whips her head over. “Yes?”

“I’d love to get to know you a bit more. Want a chat?”

Villanelle squints out at the field. “Six more batters before Irina. Sure, I can chat.”

Elena smiles wide. “Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”

Eve wants to throw her head in her hands. Is Elena nuts? Is subtlety dead? 

But Villanelle seems unbothered by the intrusive question. “No,” she replies. “Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to imagine the family photo setup,” Elena replies cheerfully. “If I’m paired off with Kenny, and the bride and groom as well… Wondering if you’d be paired off with anyone.”

“With my sister, I imagine,” Villanelle says.

Leaving Eve as the odd one out, as usual. Eve wishes she had brought a snack to stress eat. 

“So you’re not dating anyone?” Elena prods.

Although half of Eve wants to tune out due to stress, the other half perks up. Villanelle doesn’t know that Elena knows the truth about the two of them. The flavor of her lie might reveal a lot.

Villanelle doesn’t miss a beat before replying, “I’m not really a relationship type.”

“Why is that?”

Villanelle shrugs. “If I want to sleep with someone, I sleep with them. If I want to go to dinner with them, I go to dinner with them. If I want to live with them, I live with them.”

There it is. The crystallization of all of Eve’s doubts.

If Villanelle really wanted anything more… If she felt any feelings for Eve beyond physical attraction… She’d have told Eve already. She hasn’t. There’s the answer.

Before Elena can continue with the interrogation, Villanelle snaps to the action on the field, and screams, “Are you blind? That was safe!” And she’s gone, again.

Eve turns to Elena, “It’s pointless, see?”

“She is a tough nut, I’ll give you that,” Elena mutters. “But I’m determined to crack this one way or another. Do you text?”

“Of course we text.”

“Give,” Elena commands, so Eve unlocks her phone and hands it to Elena. Elena’s thumb begins swiping furiously – she’s scrolling all the way back to the very beginning. Eve’s stomach flops and she knows she can’t sit there and watch Elena’s reaction to reading every message, so she excuses herself and scoots out to the aisle, climbing down the bleachers.

She walks off to the parking lot for a breath of fresh air. This is bonkers. It’s all bonkers. She shouldn’t be nervous about Elena’s opinion on Villanelle’s feelings; she shouldn’t be nervous about Villanelle’s feelings at all. She shouldn’t have her own feelings in the first place. She should be busy shoving them through the wood-chipper of repression, grinding them into tiny bits of feelings dust that she can exhale bit by bit until her body is clean, no longer gummed up with all this pain.

Her chest grows tight. She can’t take deep enough breaths. Panic attack? Is that what this is? The symptoms match up with what she’s heard. No, that can’t be, because how fucking stupid would it be to have a panic attack at a high school softball game because her future stepsister might not like her back? Eve takes her hair down, runs her fingers through it. Puts it back up and takes it down again. Why is the air so thin, like she’s at high altitude and there’s not enough oxygen?

“You okay?”

A scruffy man in a puffed vest and trucker cap tosses his cigarette butt on the ground, stomps it, then looks over to Eve with concern.

“I, um,” Eve begins. Words. What are words? How does one communicate with another human in a normal fashion? _Okay, Eve – form a sentence. Subject, predicate, you can do this._

She tries again. “Could I bum one?”

The trucker-man pulls out a pack from his vest pocket, then offers Eve a cigarette and his lighter. Eve takes a long drag. She hasn’t smoked since college (okay, except for once or twice – the night she left Niko was the last lapse), but damn if it doesn’t help her breathe easier in this moment.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, passing the lighter back. 

The man lights himself another, then pockets the lighter, and stares out at the parking lot thoughtfully. “Your kid on the Bobcats?” 

“God, no,” Eve laughs. “It’s my mother’s fiancée’s kid. You?”

“Twins,” The man says. “The pitcher and the catcher.”

Eve begins laughing so hard she almost chokes. The man turns to glare at her. “What’s so funny?”

“I don't,” Eve begins. “I don’t know how to explain it… Um…”

“I’m just yankin’ you,” he laughs. “It’s hilarious.”

They shoot the shit for a few more minutes, until Eve’s finished her cigarette. The man (Mark, she learned) offers her another, but she declines. Her ability to breathe has returned, and the idea of returning to the stands seems fathomable once again.

The panic was unpleasant, though. Eve doesn’t want to go back there. She resolves to move on. Perhaps it really is as easy as that.

Somehow, this one smoke break has changed her whole outlook: this crush, or whatever you call it, on Villanelle was doomed from the start. A therapist would probably question Eve about her tendency to seek doomed relationships in the first place, but for now, she doesn’t want to unpack that. However, she finally believes she has the strength to let it go. 

They can still bang, probably. It might require a break while Eve flushes the last of the feelings from her system, but she’s optimistic that she might be able to handle some nice no-strings sex again in a week or so. 

She thanks Mark again and begins heading back towards the game, but freezes in her tracks. Villanelle is coming towards her, only she doesn’t see Eve yet, she’s too engrossed in her phone. Wait, not her phone – it’s _Eve’s_ phone.

“What are you doing?”

Villanelle looks up. “Oh, hi, Eve.”

“Why aren’t you watching the game?”

“I was coming to ask you the same thing.”

“Why do you have my phone?”

“Elena went to the bathroom and left it sitting there on the seat. I didn’t want anyone to steal it,” Villanelle says, still squinting down at the screen. “Why do you get so many targeted ads for vibrators?”

The dots connect in Eve’s brain.

“Can I have it back?” 

“Am I not satisfying you, Eve?” Villanelle says, deadly serious. “You have to communicate these things. There’s no need to be shy.”

She reaches out to stroke Eve’s cheek playfully, but Eve holds out her hand, palm up. “Give it back.”

Villanelle hears the desperation in Eve’s tone this time, and her face darkens with suspicion. “Why?”

“Just – I need it.”

“What’s wrong? Is there something in here you don’t want me to see? Naughty pictures?”

“No, just give it–”

“Messages, then?” Villanelle grins. Eve lunges to grab at the phone, but Villanelle yanks it up out of her reach. “Are you two-timing me? You know we never said we are exclusive.”

“I’m not.”

“It would be kind of hot, actually,” Villanelle chuckles, then turns her attention back to the screen, opening Eve’s texts. Eve makes one last desperate grab, which Villanelle deflects easily, as she taps the screen to open a message thread. 

“Hitachi wand?” she laughs. “Now I get the ads…” Then she trails off. 

Eve’s heart pounds, and her ears grow hot. Villanelle’s pupils dart back and forth as she reads the message thread. Eve sees the exact moment Villanelle reads it, from her face. Amused, then confused, then… Dark. Unreadable. 

Villanelle presses the lock button, and hands the phone back to Eve.

“I…” Eve begins. Should she apologize? Demand a response? Pretend it was a joke? “I don’t know what to say.”

Villanelle blinks, eyes oddly unfocused. Then, in a low, raspy voice, asks “Is this how you really feel?” 

“It’s not how I wanted to relay it,” Eve manages. “But, yes.”

 _Yes._ The word hangs in the air like a dagger between them. 

_Say something,_ Eve commands herself. _Anything!_ But she’s struck mute.

Villanelle turns and begins walking off in the direction of the parking lot.

“Where are you going?” Eve calls out. Villanelle doesn’t stop, so Eve jogs after her. “Stop. I didn’t mean it.”

Villanelle continues, showing no acknowledgement of Eve’s words.

“I don’t… I don’t have to feel that way. I can shove it down!” Eve calls out. But Villanelle has already reached her car. She climbs in and doesn’t even put on her seatbelt before starting the car and driving off.

Eve remains staring at the empty parking spot, shell-shocked, for several minutes. Eventually, she hears the roar of the crowd, which sounds like the game is over and manages to drag herself, zombielike, back to the stands, where Konstantin, Kenny, and Elena are hugging and congratulating Irina. Evidently, the home team won.

“Nice job,” Eve offers, pure small-talk muscle memory taking over. “Sorry I missed the end there.”

Irina shrugs. “It was a boring end anyway. We crushed them.” Then, she glances around. “Where’s Villanelle?”

Everyone looks to Eve. She feels very put on the spot. Why are words such a challenge, today? She clears her throat. “She left.”

“Did she say why?” Konstantin asks.

“No.”

“Why is she always so dramatic?” Irina whines. “Stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Konstantin says, though his weary tone betrays his real opinion. “Let’s go get some ice cream, huh?”

“I’ll second that,” Kenny adds.

As they follow the mass exodus towards the parking lot, Elena hangs back a few feet. “Why do I get the sense something went very wrong?”

Eve explains what happened as quickly as she can, since even relaying the words back makes something sting at the edges of her chest.

“Shit,” Elena breathes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in.”

“It’s not your fault,” Eve says, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have given you the phone. I shouldn’t have even brought it up. It’s stupid, stupid–”

“It’s not stupid,” Elena says. “And neither are you.”

“Right,” Eve mumbles.

“There’s a silver lining to all this,” Elena says. “At least now you know she has feelings. You’ve hurt them badly. But they exist!”

Elena might be right, but somehow, that doesn’t make Eve feel any better. All the way to the ice cream parlor, and all the way home, she can’t get one image out of her head.

Villanelle’s face. Learning that Eve has feelings for her. Confused and upset.

Eve waits for it to fade away. It doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh!
> 
> drop ya thoughts in the comments or chat me up on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo
> 
> also reminder the playlist for this fic can be listened to [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uZynKCs2OZ1gxKmYX4XDG)!
> 
> P.S.: enjoy a depiction of that last scene by [chenckino](https://twitter.com/chenckino/status/1264616727456841728?s=20)!


	15. We Should Definitely Not Have Sex Right Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shopping trip for wedding attire brings Eve into close quarters with Villanelle, which is the last thing she wants at the moment.

_“It feels so good to be having sex right now,_  
_So good to be having sex right now._  
_What makes it so good is we just said we shouldn’t be having sex right now.”_  
—Rachel Bloom, Jack Dolgen, Adam Schlesinger

* * *

Stress is not good for one’s health.

As any doctor will assert, stress compounds all other health issues and also makes individuals more likely to turn to unhealthy coping habits which in turn bring more problems.

Eve is well aware of this. It does not stop her from falling hard into bad habits.

Her brief lapse into smoking turns into a fully reignited habit. A pack a day for every day she hasn’t heard from Villanelle since the softball game. Today makes seven. She tears open her seventh pack and lights up her first cigarette of the morning while she waits for Kenny and Elena to come out and get into the car. 

It’s a family shopping trip today: finally time to get clothed for the wedding. Under normal circumstances, Eve would dread this trip enough due to Carolyn’s inevitable assault of judgmental looks and comments, but now she has to cope with the added danger of seeing Villanelle for the first time since that fateful moment after the game.

Eve doesn’t know what to do. She hasn’t bothered reaching out. She knows well enough by now that endless texts won’t get a response, so unless Villanelle gets sick for a second time in her life, within a few weeks, allowing Eve to take care of her in her infirmity, Eve’s not getting off the hook so easily this time.

And so, she takes a long drag.

“Do you have to do that in here?” Kenny asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

“My car, my rules,” Eve says. But she feels like a bit of an ass, so she rolls down the window. Then she shifts into drive, beginning in the direction of the formalwear boutique Carolyn had booked an appointment with for the family. Kenny falls silent, for the time being.

However, when Eve merges onto the highway and lights her second cigarette, it merits some shifty glances.

“I take it things are still tense between you and Villanelle,” Elena comments.

“Can we please not do this now?” Kenny whines. “I’ve told you, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“It’s Eve’s car,” Elena quips.

“Yeah, it’s my car,” Eve says. “You don’t like it? There’s the door.”

“We’re on Route Nine, going forty-five!” Kenny protests.

“Anyway,” Eve says. “Tense doesn’t begin to cover it. Last time she was this distant, reaching out didn’t help, and this is um, probably worse than that time.” Then she pauses to consider, and thinks aloud: “Is it worse, actually? Is calling someone a vibrator better or worse than siccing Boston cops and drug sniffing dogs on them?”

“What?”

“Oh, shove it, Kenny. If you ‘don’t want to hear about it’, you don’t get to judge.”

“I’ve changed my mind, I’d like to judge, please!” Kenny says indignantly. “Speaking of which, are you back to smoking full-time, then?”

“No more comments about smoking in my car!”

Kenny silently rolls down his own window, and turns to breathe in the fresh air.

“So you haven’t reached out at all?” Elena asks, returning to the topic at hand.

“The ball is in her court,” Eve insists. “She knows I have feelings, it’s up to her to decide if she’s okay with that or not.”

“Does she _really_ know, though?” Elena prods.  
  
“She saw the texts!” Eve snaps. “She asked, ‘is that really how you feel?’”

“But did you _really_ talk about it?” Elena says. “It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, except that I really, really don’t have a lick of faith in you when it comes to communicating clearly.”

“She knows,” Eve growls. “I mean, before those texts she probably knew anyway. Like you said, it was obvious. I may not be direct, but I’m certainly not subtle.”

“Right.”

“And in that case, why is she making such a big deal out of this?” Eve continues to rant. “She must have known already. If she didn’t know, then she’s maybe the dumbest person on the planet. And if she did know, then she’s kind of cruel to pretend she had no idea until the last possible moment.”

“Eve…” Kenny begins.

“Don’t come at me with your common-sense rationalizations right now, I’m having a moment!”

“No, Eve, you’re doing seventy in a forty-five!” Kenny shouts, clutching the handle from the ceiling as if his life depends on it. Eve looks down at the speedometer, notes that he’s right, then puts out her cigarette and slows down to the speed limit.

By the time they pull into the boutique parking lot, Kenny and Elena are quite rattled, and immediately open the doors to escape the confines of the car. Eve remains in her seat, window rolled down, and lights another cigarette.

“Coming?” Elena asks. Eve turns away and stares out the driver’s side window listlessly, trying to find something distracting. There’s an interesting crack in the pavement. An empty Coke bottle. A stray shopping cart from the Target across the way. Maybe, instead of following them into family hell, she can run off to Target instead. Hide in her safe space.

“You go ahead,” she hears Kenny say. “We’ll meet you inside.”

Then, the door opens. Eve knew she should’ve locked it. Kenny’s back in the passenger seat. Eve lays her head against the steering wheel, producing a tiny toot as her forehead hits the horn.

“You probably won’t even see her much. You can browse with your head down, then head right to the fitting room…”

“That’s not it,” Eve speaks into the steering wheel. “It’s not about today, it’s just… Why do I always do this?”

“What?”

“I’m always ruining things. At least when I ruin my own life, I’m used to that. But I’m always ruining things for our family.”

“That’s not true.”

“Raymond.”

“That was…” Kenny struggles, searching for an encouraging spin.

“And now Villanelle.” Eve picks up her head. No more reason to pretend; she can own her shame, with Kenny, at least, can’t she? “You had it all wrong, keeping eyes on Konstantin. I get along real well with Konstantin; not gonna drive him away. Shame that his daughter turns me into a blathering idiot with no self-control.” Eve’s voice starts to crack. “Now I’ve ruined things again. I can’t even go in there to buy a wedding outfit because I might see her, or God forbid, have to exchange some words. How am I gonna get through the next two months? And the wedding? That’s assuming I don’t do something idiotic that makes Konstantin call it all off again–”

“Slow down,” Kenny interjects.

“Why does everything fall apart?” Even her voice does, as she says it, splintering down the middle. Her throat is dry and her eyes are wet. She collapses onto the wheel once more, letting out a choked half-sob. 

Kenny reaches out, to Eve’s hand, even as it sits folded under her head, and gives a soft squeeze. “I don’t see anything falling apart yet.”

“Except me?” Eve mumbles into her sleeve.

“You’ll get through this. You’re strong.”

Eve turns her head to the side, cheek flat against the wheel, pouting at Kenny. “How are you so reassuring and put together?”

“I learned it from you.”

“Cute,” Eve mutters. “I’m glad I taught you something worthwhile before I have to cut myself off from the family, forever.”

“You don’t.”

“I can’t be in a room with her.”

“Plenty of people don’t get on with their step-siblings,” Kenny waves it off. “We’ll never have to see her much after the wedding, anyway.”

“We?” Eve perks up, sitting up straight. “You’re picking my side? I thought she’s the ‘best member of the younger generation’, according to you.”

Kenny shrugs. “She’s alright. But she can’t beat the real sister, who taught me all the swear words before I could speak sentences. Plus all the slang for breasts I could ever need, and more besides.” He squeezes her hand once more, adding, “Ta-tas.”

Eve snickers. “Chest fruit.”

“Bazoingas.”

Eve lets out a laugh, a real one. Kenny reaches over and plucks the cigarette from Eve’s opposite hand and puts it out.

“Let’s go inside and get fancy, alright?” he says. “Because the only way you _could_ ruin things is by showing up naked to the wedding.”

Eve climbs out and locks the door, and Kenny takes her by the arm and escorts her into the store. Inside the impressive foyer, a floral wall that says “I Do” in white flowers greets guests immediately. In front of it waits the rest of the family. A rock immediately forms in Eve’s throat as soon as she spots Villanelle’s back – can’t even see her face, and already the pain is starting? Not a good sign.

Instead of focusing on the pain, she swivels her head around to take in the lay of the land in the massive boutique. One wing for wedding dresses, another for bridesmaids’ and other dresses, and of course, an entire wing for suits and tuxedos. The layout is truly impressive, much larger than it appeared from outside. After greeting each other, the family agrees to each go their separate ways and reconvene later to compare options.

Eve is nervous at first that she’ll get stuck browsing up against Villanelle, but Villanelle hangs left and follows Konstantin and Kenny towards the suits. Irina, too, and even Elena, who is rightfully concerned about helping Kenny look presentable. They chatter about lapels and cufflinks and Eve shakes her head but wanders towards the bridesmaid section with the relief of knowing she has solitary shopping ahead of her.

As she’s rifling through some of the offerings, pulling out a navy floor-length gown for closer examination, she hears a familiar voice right behind her.

“I was thinking red.”

Eve shoves down her annoyance as she turns to face her mother. “Red?”

“For you,” Carolyn says. “I’m still exploring color options.”

“You’re not going white?” Eve asks. “As in, all those white dresses over there in the bridal section?” She points in the direction. The unspoken message: _please go far away and leave me to suffer in peace._

But Carolyn simply tilts her head, and says, “White’s not really my color, is it?”

“Is that rhetorical?”

Carolyn ignores Eve’s question, which was not rhetorical, and walks to the next rack over, pulling out a silky black dress with long sleeves. “This is wonderful.”

“Really saying ‘screw tradition’ with that one.”

“’Tradition’ is merely another word for ‘lack of imagination’.”

“You should try it on,” Eve says. “It suits you.” In spite of her general annoyance, it’s not hard to sound genuine, because in spite of how it spits in the face of Western wedding traditions, the black dress is very simple, and striking – exactly Carolyn’s style.

“I’m going to go check on the suit-wearers.” She hefts the black dress over her back, and turns to walk in that direction, then stops. “Try that one,” she commands Eve, pointing to a red sleeveless dress at the end of the rack.

Eve rolls her eyes, and wants to keep walking by, but the red dress actually does look good, like something she’d pick out on her own, so she grabs it off the rack and makes another lap, but no other dresses call out to her. She’s not in a big dress-up mood, so with any luck, if this red dress fits, she will call it a victory and bring it to the register.

The fitting rooms are mostly empty. “Hello?” Eve calls out. A young redheaded saleswoman pops out from behind a rack of empty hangers. 

“Just the one?” She asks in a chirpy voice, entirely too bright for ten in the morning. 

“Yes,” Eve replies.

The saleswoman leads her all the way down to the fitting room at the very end of the hallway – though Eve doesn’t know why she bothers, since all of them are empty – and unlocks the door. “Let me know if you need another size, or another dress, or any help at all!”

“Will do,” Eve says with forced politeness, then lets her plasticky grin drop once the door of the room shuts behind her. 

She pulls off her weekend outfit – a short sleeved button down and chinos – and lets it fall carelessly into a heap on the floor. Then, she steps into the dress. It’s been ages since she’s worn anything this nice, and come to think of it, this might be the nicest thing she’s ever worn. She broke off her engagement with Niko before the wedding dress shopping phase, so the main competition is from her prom dress, and cocktail dresses she’s gotten on sale for work events. She isn’t one to spend more than is absolutely necessary on clothing, usually, but this dress makes a compelling argument for splurging.

Eve turns to the full length mirror. The deep scarlet of the fabric complements her skin perfectly, making her look glowing. Even with her hair up in a messy bun, the back of the dress hanging open, and her bra showing through the chest cutout (which she notes, if she really does buy this dress, she’ll have to plan a different underwear situation), she looks great. Not just great: downright sexy.

“Hey,” she purrs, greeting her reflection with a wink. “Nice bazoingas.”

“Eve?”

Eve’s veins turn to ice and she instinctively throws her hands across her chest at the sound of the voice, only a few feet away. Villanelle’s voice.

“Which one of these are you in?”

A cold sweat creeps across Eve’s skin. Shit, can’t sweat in an expensive dress she may or may not even buy – she needs to take it off, but at the same time she can hear soft footfalls creeping closer across the carpeted floor, until a pair of black dress shoes appears in the gap underneath the fitting room door.

“Don’t pretend it isn’t you,” Villanelle says, from outside. “I heard you talking sexy to yourself.”

“I’m in here,” Eve calls out, her voice pitchier than usual.

“Do you need help?”

“No, thanks. And if I do, the saleswoman was very kind–”

“Let me in.” Her tone is insistent, and Eve can’t think of a single thing to say. Despite her heart’s screaming protests, her hands go to the doorknob and twist. 

The stall door swings open to reveal Villanelle standing nonchalantly, hands thrown in the pockets of her sleek black trousers. She’s in a solid jet-black tuxedo. Black vest, black cummerbund, no tie, yet, though Eve suspects that will be black too, once it’s added. Her hair is gathered into a low ponytail, and her eyes have a far-off, jaded look. She looks like she stepped out of a silent movie. She may as well have a cigarette holder in one hand and be muttering about how she’s “seen it all”.

Villanelle’s eyes quickly flit up and down Eve’s body. “Do you need help zipping that up?”

“No.”

“I think you do.” Villanelle steps around Eve, into the tiny space, and shuts the door behind her, clicking the lock.

The room is tiny. There’s not enough space for Eve to back as far away from Villanelle as she’d like; not enough other objects for her eyes to rest upon rather than the sharp tailored lines of Villanelle’s suit; not enough air for her to breathe without taking in the woody scent of Villanelle’s perfume.

“Can we, um–”

“Turn around,” Villanelle commands. Eve obliges. She turns to the mirror, while Villanelle pulls at the back of the dress to straighten the fabric. The tips of Villanelle’s knuckles grazing up Eve’s spine as she pulls the zipper up feel like they’re tracing a tattoo across her skin.

Then the zipper tab reaches the top of its track. Villanelle’s hands continue up to Eve’s shoulder, adjusting the shoulder straps so they sit symmetrically. 

Eve looks at herself in the mirror. Villanelle looks too. As if in a trance, Eve reaches up and lets her hair out of its bun, so it spills across her shoulders. Right now is perhaps the best Eve has ever looked in her entire life, bra straps notwithstanding.

Villanelle is so close Eve can feel her breath on the back of her ear as she says, “Your bazoingas look fantastic in that dress.”

Eve turns around. “Shut up.”

“Just a fact.” Villanelle shoves her hands back into her pockets.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eve blurts. Villanelle wrinkles her brow, and opens her mouth to answer, but the floodgates are open, and words keep falling out of Eve’s mouth. “Seriously, what is psychologically wrong with you? Are you diagnosably fucked in the head? I have feelings for you, and you vanished for a week. Now you’re back here pretending nothing happened? Yell at me, or beat me, or even keep ignoring me if that’s what you want to do, but don’t smirk and compliment my bazoingas like we’re just sneaking around again. Like it or not, those days are over. So what do you have to say about it?”

For a moment, Eve’s on an angry high. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath, then she slowly crashes back down to earth when she sees the look on Villanelle’s face. The jaded-1920s-cool-cat façade is gone, replaced by the same slushy confusion she’d had back at the softball game. Her gaze falls to the carpet, and she backs up the few feet that the tiny stall allows, then plops down on the tiny padded bench against the opposite wall. 

“God, I’m sorry,” Eve says. “I didn’t mean– There I go again. This is my fault in the first place, and I just– I do this thing where I feel vulnerable and I lash out. Which you’re well familiar with, by now, but it’s still wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Villanelle leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees.

“Say something, please,” Eve begs. “Tell me to fuck off, if you want, but please say _something_.”

“It upset me.”

Although she asked for it, those words pierce Eve like a stake through the heart. 

“It was an awful joke, I’m sorry,” Eve says. “The Hitachi Wand thing, it was something Bill said to me before, and– fuck, the reason doesn’t matter, it was a shitty thing to say.”

“Not that part,” Villanelle says quietly. 

Eve is taken aback. “Then what is it?” Her words come out dry, choked, because she knows the only other alternative Villanelle can be upset about is the _feelings._ She’s mad that Eve had to go and catch feelings and complicate their situation. They agreed to keep things strictly platonic, and Eve broke that agreement. Ruining things once again. What she does best.

Villanelle takes in a deep breath. Here it comes. 

“Seeing you talk about me, that way, with your friends,” she says, then pauses. Clearly choosing her words carefully.

Eve can’t help but jump in again with another, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t what you said. It was… This isn’t easy for me to say.” Villanelle sighs. “I don’t really have many friends.”

“I thought… Anne-Laure, and all those other people all over the world…”

“Not like you do.” Villanelle keeps staring at the carpet, as she murmurs, “I could not text Anne-Laure and tell her how I feel about you. I could not call her up and confide in her how I haven’t felt this way about anyone before. How I really like spending time with you, and just talking, even more than I like the sex.” Villanelle finally lifts her head, to look up at Eve. “That _never_ happens!” Her eyes are wide, and just the slightest bit wet. Absolutely terrified.

Eve can relate.

As scared as she was before, somehow knowing that Villanelle feels the same – _she feels the same!_ – is ten times more terrifying.

“So you…” Eve begins. “We…” She feels like she’s just been injected with an adrenaline shot. Her heart races, but her brain frantically searches for words. “What do we do now?”

Villanelle hauls herself to her feet. She puts an arm around Eve, palm cradling the back of Eve’s neck, then bends in to kiss Eve. Their lips lock passionately, then, approximately one point five seconds later, Villanelle snaps away, grimacing.

“Eve, why do you taste of cigarettes?”

“Uh…”

“Do you smoke?”

“No. I mean, I used to, but I quit.”

“You better quit again,” Villanelle says, sternly. “That is a dealbreaker for me.”

“Okay, okay,” Eve laughs. “It was only a brief lapse.”

“I’m not kidding,” Villanelle assers. “I won’t kiss you like this.”

”Suit yourself,” Eve snorts. She wants to be angry, but her mouth won’t cooperate; her cheeks stay upturned.

“Unless…” Villanelle says, raising an eyebrow.

Villanelle takes Eve’s hand in hers. She raises it to her mouth and presses a gentle kiss against the back of Eve’s hand. Then, she pulls it, raising Eve’s arm up high, like they’re dancing, and spins Eve around, other hand on the small of Eve’s back. She dips Eve low, and Eve’s back stretches as it arcs. Then, straight up again, but Villanelle pushes her down, so she comes to a seat on the bench.

“Are you comfortable?” Villanelle asks. Eve, speechless, merely nods.

Villanelle adjusts her lapels, shakes out the creases from her trousers, then lowers herself down onto her knees. For a moment, she kneels, looking up at Eve. Face open and beaming like a flower facing the sun. 

“I’ve never done this with _feelings_ before,” Villanelle says, a hungry tremor in her voice. “We’ll see if it all still works the same.”

She places each hand on Eve’s knees, and gently presses. Eve gets the hint. She spreads her legs as wide as the loose skirt will allow, scooches out to the very lip of the bench, and stretches out her arms behind her to brace herself. 

Villanelle lifts up the folds of red fabric, and pops her head underneath. Eve lifts her hips up as she feels fingers pulling the edges of her panties, letting them fall down her legs until they’re gone. 

Then, only seconds later, wet pressure against her clit. Villanelle’s mouth against her pussy. Eve instinctively shifts, leaning into it to afford Villanelle a better angle, and lets out a deep moan. Somehow, in the seven days she’d gone without, she’d forgotten how addicted she is to Villanelle’s scent, her feel, her very being.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers, fighting the urge to squirm, hypersensitive to every bit of Villanelle’s touch. “This is a very bad idea. Not just the you-and-me part, but I mean, here, and now–too risky.”

“Hey.” The tongue is gone, replaced by two fingers rubbing against her clit. Villanelle’s head pops back out from underneath the flowing skirt of the dress, an admonishing took on her face. “That won’t do. You will need to be quiet,” she says to Eve. “Can you handle it?”

“I can,” Eve says.

“Are you sure?” Villanelle’s eyes are cold, and commanding. A challenge.

“I can do it.”

So Villanelle ducks back underneath the billowy red tent and resumes her work. 

And Eve tries. She tries extremely hard. She bites her lip to keep sound from escaping. She grips the edge of the tiny bench, her knuckles turning white. She’s glad that she can’t see Villanelle’s face, nor vice versa, because that would surely send her over the edge.

But she can feel. Oh Lord, can she feel. Villanelle’s hands, braced against either of Eve’s thighs, thumbs keeping a firm grip from the insides, keeping Eve spread wide. Villanelle’s mouth, pressed up against Eve’s wetness, moving in determined swipes. 

_Fuck, that’s good._ She throws her head back and hits against the flimsy partition wall, making it shake, rattling the hangers on the hook above her.

A knock at the door. Timid, and objectively rather quiet, but to Eve, it sounds like a gunshot.

Eve’s heart stops, as does Villanelle’s mouth. They both freeze, perfectly suspended in time.

“Everything alright in there?” she hears the bright shiny voice of the saleswoman from before.

“Fine,” Eve calls, trying to keep her voice even, for Villanelle has unfrozen, and teases around Eve’s entrance with her tongue, like she’s _trying_ to make Eve break and get them caught.

“Are you sure?” The chirpy tone quavers with a hint of concern. “Can I help you with anything? Do you need another size, or–”

“No, I’m alright thank _YOU_.” Eve’s voice shoots up an octave on the last word as Villanelle’s tongue goes in a place she did not expect it to go. Eve holds her breath, chest tight with effort, until she hears the saleswoman’s footsteps finally retreating from the fitting room door.

Eve had been right on the brink before the interruption, and now she’s on fire, frustrated, stranded on a plateau. But Villanelle resumes her work, and Eve is jolted free from her paralysis of feeling. Her breath speeds up and comes in quick gasps. It’s all she can do to keep from vocalizing, but she’ll just have to hope no one comes near enough to hear her heavy breathing. Maybe they’d believe she’s just _really_ excited about how she looks in this dress.

Villanelle’s tongue wrestles against Eve’s clit, sending a bolt of heat straight up all the way through Eve’s body. She imagines herself exploding like a volcano, heat coming out of her face and erupting from her mouth as she finally lets out a cry of pleasure. She falls back against the wall once more as her arms supporting her turn to jelly. 

Villanelle re-emerges and looks up at Eve. Her eyes shining, and lips shining as well, her cheeks red with effort, her hair just slightly rumpled. 

“Sorry,” Eve whimpers. “I did my best.”

“Feelings make more of a difference than I thought,” Villanelle chuckles. She gets to her feet and gently dusts off her pants, though little damage is done, since the plush carpet is exquisitely clean. “I will have to account for the extra potency, next time.”

Once Eve manages to get to her feet (with some support from Villanelle – her legs are weak), she looks in the mirror and takes an honest assessment. “Guess I have to buy this dress now.”

“Excellent,” Villanelle hisses in her ear. “I, and your bazoingas, thank you.”

* * *

It’s the parents’ idea. Everything that happens that night, Eve decides afterwards, can be blamed on them.

Later, once Irina is dropped back at school, Konstantin calls Eve and asks if she’ll come to dinner. “A proper dinner. Just the grown-ups,” he says. “For us to get to know each other as adults. A bit of a double date. Plus you and Villanelle.” He chuckles at that. 

As Eve gets out of her car, she spots Villanelle’s black Lexus pulling in to the lot a few spaces down. She lets Kenny and Elena go on ahead, and hang back. When Villanelle emerges from the driver’s side door, Eve’s jaw drops. 

One leg emerges first, then another, clad in black pumps. Then the rest of Villanelle appears, dressed in a magenta dress with a slit that travels far up the leg, a plunging neckline, coming together with a halter top, meeting her golden hair falling in voluptuous waves down her back.

Absolute whiplash from the tuxedo that afternoon. Night and day. Yin and Yang. Eve can’t help but find it downright unfair that Villanelle is such a master of both the masculine and feminine looks.

“Wow. You look…” Eve trails off.

“No need to finish that,” Villanelle says. She looks Eve up and down, and Eve suddenly feels rather underdressed in her simple teal cowl-neck sweater and trenchcoat.

“It’s an Italian restaurant, not a runway,” Eve mumbles defensively.

Villanelle pats Eve on the top of the head, like a puppy. “I’m glad to see you able to walk on your own.”

“Shut up.”

“You have no idea how badly I want to ravage you again, right now,” Villanelle’s voice is cool, rough. It almost sounds like _she’s_ the one who’s been smoking all week.

“Well, you can’t,” Eve says, as if she’s winning some kind of argument, even though she’d love the same thing. “Carolyn has eyes like a hawk, she can probably see us all the way out here.”

For a moment, they both stare at the far-off window of the restaurant, squinting, trying to see if they can spot a tiny Carolyn already inside. Then, at the same moment, they begin to walk towards the entrance. It takes all of Eve’s strength not to grab Villanelle’s hand along the way.

When they reach the table, and perform the requisite greetings, they end up seated in the remaining two empty seats. Right next to each other. Eve’s leg only an inch or so away from Villanelle’s. She can’t get much farther if she tries. She can practically feel the static electricity jumping between them.

Once wine is poured for all, Villanelle immediately raises her glass. “To my father, and to Carolyn,” she says. “For bringing each of us into the world – except you, Elena, sorry – and bringing us all into each other’s lives. A great deed. May their love be just as great.”

The rest follow suit, and complete the toast. The parents practically drool with pride over that ass-kissing toast. Villanelle juts our her chin with a smug smile. Eve wants to wipe that stupid, smug, sexy smile off her face. 

An idea comes to her, right as the waiter returns to take their dinner orders. Eve goes first, and rattles off her order quickly. While she speaks, her hand migrates underneath the table onto Villanelle’s thigh. While the server turns to the rest of the table, Eve’s hand creeps up Villanelle’s leg, through the slit in her dress.

Villanelle is in the middle of ordering when it hits her. “I would love the pasta–” Her voices catches for half an instant, as she registers Eve’s fingertips pressing between her legs into her crotch. But the pause is almost imperceptible; she recovers so quickly that no one but Eve could possibly notice, as she finishes, “–alla vodka. Pasta alla vodka, thank you.” Then she smiles and hands her menu to the waiter, all trace of surprise gone.

A new challenge emerges: to see how much it will take to break Villanelle’s incredible control. To push her over the edge. And put them both in danger in the process. _After all,_ Eve wonders to herself, _what’s reward without a little risk?_

As her fingers edge their way in between Villanelle’s legs, she’s shocked to find no additional resistance. Of course Villanelle is going commando. Of _course_ she is. Well, so much the better – it will make Eve’s job that much easier.

Meanwhile, once everyone has given their orders, conversation resumes. Eve finds it’s also hard for her to keep speaking normally while she’s got one hand in Villanelle’s junk. She tries to nod and laugh at the appropriate times, while her fingers explore the tight space between Villanelle’s legs.

Villanelle lets out a chuckle at some joke Elena just finished telling, still showing no outward reaction to the journey of Eve’s hand. That will change soon.

Their server reappears and places a plate of arancini in the middle of the table. Everyone reaches for them excitedly. 

“Don’t you want some, Eve?” Villanelle asks. She’s enjoying this too much; her smug grin might as well say, _“I’m winning.”_ To add insult to injury, she goes ahead and serves one onto Eve’s tiny appetizer plate.

“Thanks,” Eve replies. She reaches for her fork, which is awkward with her left hand, and the fried ball of rice escapes her first couple of stabs. Carolyn and Konstantin keep up their discussion of art museums in France, but Kenny’s gaze flicks suspiciously to Eve’s plate, no doubt starting to wonder why she’s eating with her non-dominant hand. Hopefully, he won’t figure out what her right hand is busy doing, as it rubs up and down, generating friction against Villanelle’s folds. 

As distracting as it is to put on a show of eating her appetizer at the same time, Eve notes with pleasure that Villanelle is growing wet, so even if she tries to hide it on her face, she’s getting pleasure from this, too.

“Villanelle,” Carolyn asks. “Which museum in France do you find to be the best-curated?”

“Me?” Villanelle asks, seemingly distracted. 

Yes, Eve thinks to herself. Not so high and mighty now.

“Yes,” Carolyn replies, with a trace of irritation at having to repeat herself. “You lived there for several years, yes, so what is your opinion as a local?”

“Um,” Villanelle says. 

Eve doesn’t think she’s ever heard Villanelle say “um” before. She bites back a wicked grin, while she continues to rub up against Villanelle’s clit.

“I don’t enjoy museums, much, actually,” Villanelle manages, only slightly stilted.

“Oh?” Carolyn says. “I would’ve figured you for a culture hound.”

“I prefer more vigorous activities,” Villanelle replies.

“Vigorous?” Eve says, with mock surprise. It’s her turn to throw the pressure of the family’s focus onto Villanelle, now. “Do tell.” As she does, she increases the speed and pressure of her fingers, which slip more easily now that Villanelle is growing wetter by the second.

“Bullfighting!” Villanelle half-spits the word between her clenched teeth. Her face has gone rosy pink, almost matching the magenta of her dress, but everyone seems to take this for mere embarrassment, because Elena launches into a raucous fit of laugher, to which Konstantin soon follows suit.

“She has always had a liking for any sport where there’s a chance blood will be spilled,” Konstantin chuckles. “Her mother found it very concerning.”

“I think we all find a thrill in a visceral reminder of our mortality,” Carolyn says. “Provided we spectate from a safe distance.”

Eve extends two fingers in a scissorlike motion while pressing her thumb against Villanelle’s clit, hard. 

“Yes!” Villanelle gasps, cocking her head back, offering her answer to the ceiling. Her sudden outburst shocks the whole table into silence, as well as a few other tables adjacent to them.

“Rather emphatic agreement, there,” Elena comments.

Eve withdraws her hand to rest on the napkin in her lap and tries her absolute hardest not to smirk, at least not too noticeably. 

The other four diners all stare at Villanelle as she lowers her gaze and tries to steady her breathing. “Yes,” she says in a more normal register. “Carolyn, that is exactly it. A little risk is necessary to remind us what it is to be alive.” Then she turns her head ninety degrees to stare Eve dead in the face. “Don’t you think so, Eve?”

“That’s one thing we can agree on.”

Carolyn and Konstantin exchange a look, then the server arrives with a tray full of their entrees, and hunger takes precedence over any lingering confusion.

A minute later, after the plates are properly distributed, the table falls silent except for the contented sounds of eating. While Eve tucks into her bolognese, she spares a sideways glance at Villanelle. She’s bent over her pasta alla vodka, stuffing bits into her mouth ravenously. Absolutely engrossed in her food, so much so that she doesn’t notice Eve staring. Absolutely unbothered by the risk of smudging her lipstick, or getting sauce on her expensive dress. Absolutely recovered from any stress she may have felt about coming at the dinner table in front of her father, though her cheeks still bear a bit of a sheen from the experience. 

Altogether, absolutely stunning.

Eve catches herself, realizing she’s let her eyes settle on Villanelle for perhaps a few seconds too long and she’d better stop. She forces herself to take a look around the table. Carolyn and Konstantin’s hands have intertwined on the table between them as they eat. Gagworthy, but also, a little sweet? Eve finds it a lot easier to be a supportive of her mother’s loving relationship now that she has something to hold onto for herself.

What to call it? Eve still has no clue. What the future might hold? Big fat question mark there, as well. Will there be an even bigger heartbreak in store in eight weeks now that they’re both invested? Quite probably. But for now, Eve got to please and be pleased by a girl that she likes. It sounds so middle school, but it makes her feel fizzy inside. 

Then, her gaze continues around the table. Kenny is very focused on his chicken piccata. But then Eve feels eyes on hers. Elena is looking right at her. A slight smile as she shakes her head, then winks.

Caught after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bazoingas!
> 
> tell me your thoughts in the comments or chat me up on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo
> 
> P.S. If you are not watching Crazy Ex Girlfriend by now, what are you doing?! I told you before and I'll tell you again, it's pure brilliance, like the [song that gave this chapter its title!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJ9ea-hbQw4)


	16. Does Your Mother Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolyn presses Eve about her relationship situation, and sets her up on a blind date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when I started this fic in late February, and also set the story at that same time, I had a naïve vision that I might publish the fic in "real-time", which meant that I intended to publish the final chapter today. June third. Carolyn and Konstantin's wedding date. But then the plan expanded from four chapters to who knows how many chapters to 24 chapters, and that became unrealistic. Anyways, I'm misty, but also excited to share the rest of the story with you all. Happy June third!

_“Take it easy. Better slow down, girl._  
_That’s no way to go._  
_Does your mother know?”_  
—ABBA

* * *

  
_All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way._

Eve returns to the opening quote from _Anna Karenina_ often throughout her life. When she first read the book in college, she found it an apt assessment of her own family life: while some of her peers hated their families with similar intensity, no one else had family drama like hers. 

Over the past two days, since her declaration of mutual “feelings” with Villanelle, she dwells on that quote once more, though she now desires to revise Mr. Tolstoy’s words ever so slightly to fit her present situation:

_All happy relationships are alike; each unhappy relationship is unhappy in its own way._

Is it fair to call whatever it is between her and Villanelle a relationship? In the most general sense, obviously – any connection between two people of any nature is a “relationship”, but in the colloquial sense, which implies romance, maturity, some level of formal commitment, does it apply? Or would “fling”, “affair”, or “romp”, still be more apt labels? After all, “relationship” also implies some sort of future. Some common agreement to invest in the bond and try to extend it indefinitely. That certainly isn’t the case here. The future is a dark, messy, haze, at least up until the wedding day. June third stands like a beacon, shining and clear. End of the road. No trespassing.

Oddly enough, Eve misses the days when all she did was ruminate on whether or not Villanelle might possibly feel the same way she did. When she was utterly consumed by a craving for her more-than-just-sexual attraction to be reciprocated. For that was in a way preferable to the new dilemma in front of her: what on Earth do you call a relationship with a predetermined deadline? How do you allow feelings to grow when you know they must be chopped down and thrown in the trash in seven weeks’ time? “Unhappy in their own way” is an understatement: Eve has somehow stumbled into the most uniquely doomed romance of all time.

But, even after settling on the umbrella term “relationship”, is it fair to call it “unhappy”?

For as much as she shouldn’t be – as much as it’s unwise and downright dangerous – Eve is happy. Happier than she has any right to be. The happiest she’s been in years, maybe, when she’s with Villanelle. But she can’t show it.

Eve’s a black belt in repressing feelings, but usually she’s stuffing down anger, guilt, or shame – it’s totally foreign to her to be hiding away _happiness._

Thus, another revision:

_All happy relationships are fucked in their own way._

At least, that’s true of the happy relationships in Eve’s life. Sorry, Tolstoy. 

Perhaps it isn’t healthy for each ounce of happiness this relationship brings to be accompanied by a pound of self-loathing, but on the other hand, Villanelle’s already exerting a positive influence by forcing Eve to quit another unhealthy habit.

That very night after dinner with the family, when they met up an hour later at Villanelle’s apartment, she immediately stole Eve’s purse, found the half-empty packet of cigarettes, and threw them in the garbage.

“Hey!” Eve protested. “You can’t expect me to go cold-turkey. There’s a process to this.”

Villanelle responded by throwing her arms around Eve’s waist and pulling her close. “Remember how good I am at kissing?” She leaned in close, her nose brushing up against Eve’s. “You will never experience that again if you pick up another cigarette.”

She made a pretty compelling case.

Nonetheless, Eve starts to go through withdrawal keenly over the next few days – from nicotine, and from Villanelle’s kisses. The symptoms aren’t as bad as when she quit smoking the first time, after college, but still: headaches. Irritability. Distraction.

“Would you like eggs?”

Eve blinks, back to reality. It’s Tuesday morning. She’s just dressed herself for work. Bag slung over her shoulder, keys in hand, she stands at the bottom of the stairs, poised to leave, but Carolyn’s voice stopped her with her spontaneous and unusual offer of breakfast.

“Sure,” Eve says. She had planned to grab a breakfast sandwich from the Dunkin’ across the street from work, not because she’s short on time, but rather short on energy. She’d stayed at Villanelle’s until two in the morning, and her body does not deal as well with late nights like that as she used to. Yet, she still woke with no difficulty to her six-thirty alarm. The constant need to watch her back has her sleeping lightly these days.

Eve sits down at the kitchen table while Carolyn serves some scrambled eggs onto a plate for her. “Why the sudden urge to cook?” Eve asks. She knows well that Carolyn can’t stand eggs.

“I thought Kenny might want some, when he wakes.”

“Kenny’s not here. He spent the night at Elena’s. He didn’t tell you?” Kenny has been spending a lot of nights at Elena’s, lately. In fact, it was for this very reason that Eve is careful to come back home after her nights with Villanelle – the last thing she needs is for the parents to grow suspicious that both Kenny and Eve are out for the same reasons. 

“In that case, eat up.” Carolyn dumps the entire pan of scrambled eggs onto Eve’s plate. “He’s getting on quite well with Elena, it seems.”

“Yes,” Eve says, picking at the large pile of eggs in front of her. She’ll scoop some into a container for tomorrow.

“Have you begun seeing anyone since last I asked?”

Eve almost chokes on a mouthful of egg. Does Carolyn _know_?

Her innocent question sends a shock of fear through Eve. Was it what happened underneath the dinner table – could she tell? No, absolutely not; there’s no way she’d be so calm in that case. The dressing room, perhaps? Eve thought the entire row of fitting rooms was empty except for her and Villanelle, but is it possible that Carolyn had been lurking down the row, and overheard her and Villanelle?

The egg feels like a stone in her throat, but she swallows with great effort. “Um?”

“I didn’t expect that question to merit deep thought, but by all means, take your time.” Carolyn fetches her cup of tea from the counter, beginning to stir with a teaspoon while she waits.

Eve coughs and clears her throat. _Stay calm; don’t assume the worst._ “I’m just wondering what brought this on.”

Carolyn picks up her spoon and stirs her tea placidly. “I’ve just met a perfectly wonderful – a perfectly acceptable young man. My colleague’s nephew. Just moved here last year, but may be looking to settle down.”

“That’s nice,” Eve says. Perhaps Carolyn doesn’t know after all. Perhaps it’s just another standard round of single-daughter-guilt.

“So I made a date for the two of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tonight.” Carolyn picks up her tea, and takes a great sip. “Don’t wear a turtleneck; put some effort in.”

“You set me up on a blind date?” Eve demands. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m quite sane. Of course I asked for a picture first. He’s above average in the looks department,” Carolyn assures her.

Eve places her fork down. “You didn’t think maybe you should ask me if I was interested before setting this up?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? You’re not seeing anyone. He’s good looking and well-educated. You’re not getting any younger.”

Eve digs her fingernails into her palm, forcing a deep breath before she says something she’ll regret. But before she can come up with a non-aggressive response, Carolyn pre-empts her.

“I’ve not sold your hand in marriage, Eve. It’s one dinner. It carries no expectation beyond, at most, two hours of time where you shall make pleasant conversation and enjoy a free meal. Something that most people do all the time simply to open themselves up to the possibility of a pleasant surprise and a positive connection. However, if that is entirely too dreadful of a prospect for you to bear, I can call off the arrangement and lose social credit with my colleague accordingly. What shall I do?”

Eve reaches into her purse instinctively grasping for a cigarette. When her hand closes around nothing but a few loose receipts and a tampon, she remembers. 

“Send me the details,” she sighs, then gets up and dumps the rest of the scrambled eggs into a Tupperware container, shoving them into the fridge. Kenny can have them later. She’ll stop at Dunkin’ after all – right after picking up some nicotine patches.

  
After a long, boring day at work that creeps by like molasses, Eve finally shuts down the computer in her office, grabs her bag, and heads down the hallway to the bathroom. As much as she dreads the forced smiles and small talk, she has to admit, a fancy dinner accompanied by an even fancier bottle of wine sounds incredibly appealing right now.

She changes her clothes in the stall, glad everyone else has cleared out so no one will hear her curses echoing off the tiled walls as she knocks her elbows against the walls.

She emerges, dressed but not fully buttoned up, and spreads out her date-night prep across the sink. She swipes a travel deodorant underneath her armpits, then fishes out the pair of gold earrings she brought from her purse, accidentally dropping one into the sink, where, thank God, it lodges against the drain but doesn’t slip through.

While she struggles to clip the earring in, her phone rings. She fumbles in her bag to see who’s calling. If it were anyone else, she’d let it go to voicemail. 

After nearly dropping the phone as well, she manages to prop it between her ear and shoulder, and answers in a singsongy voice. “Hey, Vill.”

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eve says cheerily, as she tears open the box in her purse to pull out a new nicotine patch. 

“You sound like you are in a musical. Have you killed someone?”

“No,” Eve replies. “But I might kill my mother. She set me up with a man.”

“A man?” Villanelle repeats. “To mow the lawn, or fix your car?”

“To go on a date. Tonight.”

Villanelle is slow to answer. “What did you tell her?”

“I couldn’t say no; it’d be too suspicious.” Eve shoves the patches and deodorant away, grabbing her blush and lipstick instead. “Plus she ran me through the classic passive-aggressive guilt wringer. You should’ve seen her in action. She’s a master.”

“So you are going on a date. Tonight. With a man.” Villanelle’s tone is calm, but not happy.

“Yes, we’ve established that.”

“What are you wearing?” Villanelle asks suddenly. “Not a turtleneck.”

“Why does everyone – ugh,” Eve groans. “I’ll send you a pic.”

Eve puts the call on speaker, then makes a funny face and snaps a quick, bad-fluorescent-lighting selfie, showing the silk button-down and high waisted pants combo she’d chosen – a slightly more casual and fun downgrade from her work outfit.

She sends the picture, then places the phone down on the sink while she opens her blush and gives herself a careful examination in the mirror.

A few seconds later, Villanelle’s loud exhale confirms that she’s seen the picture. “I’m supposed to let you go off to see some man like that? He will jump you immediately.”

“Oh my god, are you jealous?” 

Villanelle’s quiet breathing provides all the answer Eve needs.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Eve laughs, uncapping her lipstick. “I don’t want to do this; it’s an obligation. I’ll sit through it, make small talk, and leave as soon as I can.”

“Right,” Villanelle replies, coolly. 

“It’s a stupid blind date,” Eve reassures her. “It’s going through the motions. It’s not like… what we have.”

She stumbles, as she realizes she still doesn’t have the proper words for what exists between her and Villanelle. A conversation that needs to happen at some point, but one she’d rather not have while she’s trying to touch up her makeup in a streaky bathroom mirror at work.

She presses her lips together to even out her lipstick, then adds, “And as soon as a socially acceptable amount of time has passed, I will politely ask for the check, and make my way back to you. Alright?”

“Alright,” Villanelle says. She hangs up before Eve can say goodbye.

The man who picks Eve up right outside the entrance to her office is sharply dressed, in a blue suitcoat over a crisp white shirt. His shiny, voluminous hair looks as soft as a rabbit’s ass. His name, as he deftly offers with an Oxford-trained handshake, is Hugo Turner.

“And you’re Eve, and the pleasure is all mine,” he adds, before Eve can introduce herself. In a cartoonishly chivalrous move, he opens the passenger side door of his BMW for Eve, then circles around to his side and drives them to the Zagat-approved seafood restaurant he’d selected.

The first few minutes are pleasantly silent as they peruse the menus. Hugo orders a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc while Eve looks through the fresh offerings. When the server returns, Eve orders the Nantucket Bluefin, while Hugo opts for a ribeye.

“Not to be weird about it,” she begins, hopping on the conversation-starting crumb, “but if you wanted steak, why did you suggest a seafood restaurant?”

“I thought people from Boston like seafood,” Hugo suggests with a devilish grin.

“Then shouldn’t you have ordered the fish and chips?”

“Touché,” Hugo chuckles.

Eve drains her first glass of wine quickly, and Hugo pours another. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. He even manages to make the obligatory small talk less cut-and-dry than normal, as he regales Eve with horror stories about the most obnoxious couples he’s sold homes to in the year he’s been working in the U.S. 

When he asks about her job, Eve tries to come up with some similarly entertaining tales from market research, but the best she can do is regale him with the ongoing war between departments about staple placement on inter-office document exchanges: _horizontal or diagonal?_ Hugo gives a charitable chuckle, and heroically redirects the conversation to more interesting territory, talking about a concert he attended with his friends recently.

If Eve lets herself float out of her true circumstances – forgets how Carolyn set up this date, how she’s getting married, and forgets Villanelle – she catches herself actually enjoying the date, for brief stretches. A few seconds at most, until she remembers her reality, and instinctively scratches at the nicotine patch on her bicep, then takes another swig of wine.

“This steak is bloody delicious,” Hugo mumbles, around a mouthful. “They should toss the fish and go full-on steakhouse, if you ask me.”

“Give me some,” Eve demands. 

Hugo shakes his head, as he pops another bite into his mouth.

“Come on! I’ll let you try the fish.”

“No way,” Hugo replies. “I’m not letting a single bit of this escape my stomach. It’s too good.”

“Respect,” Eve laughs. “You know, Hugo? I think I owe you an apology.”

“Oh?”

“The truth is, I only came tonight because my mother set me up and guilted me into it. I was really dreading it. Like, blow-my-brains-out dread. But it’s turning out more fun than I thought.”

Eve reaches for the wine bottle to refill her glass, and finds it incredibly light in her hands – it’s empty. 

Hugo’s eyes flit to his own glass, still half-full from his first pour. Eve pretends not to notice his noticing, and waves to their server across the room.

She orders another bottle, without asking for the wine list – she tells the waiter to bring the best recommended red. “Don’t worry,” she assures Hugo, who looks on with raised eyebrows. “I’ll pay for it. I actually make a lot of money. I’m stingy but I know what to splurge on.”

“I’m more worried about your general state, than I am about the bill,” he says.

“What a gentleman!” Eve exclaims. “Eton and Oxford know how to teach ‘em right.”

She pours herself a healthy glass of the red and takes a taste. It’s marvelous; goes down too easily. Whatever giant number comes back on the bill later, it’s worth it.

“As long as you’re enjoying yourself,” Hugo says. He knows when to back off, too. A rare trait. 

“I am.” Eve suddenly wishes very badly that she could take this blind date at face value.

“Then why does it feel like you’re trying to pass out before we’ve even got through the meal?”

“I’m sorry,” Eve sighs. “This sucks. You really deserve a better date than me.”

“I think you’re the tits,” Hugo says. “And I’d absolutely love to take you home if I didn’t have qualms about your state of mind right now.”

“No, you really deserve better,” Eve says, with another sip to steel her nerves. “Even on my best day, I’m not the one you want. But I want to be clear, this is not me at my best. Usually I’m… better than this. See, there’s my mom, and, I just quit smoking again, and… I’m a little stressed.”

“We all have our ways to cope,” Hugo says.

“I’m sorry I can’t be a good date for you, even though you’ve been really, a much better dinner companion than I could’ve expected,” Eve sighs. “I won’t make you drive my messy self home. I’ll just get an Uber. My girlfriend will love that.” 

Only then does Eve hear herself. She hears exactly how drunk she is for the first time, as well as that word she’d let slip. “Oops,” she adds, as if that interjection might act as an undo function for real life.

Hugo smirks, and looks down at his lap. “I really should’ve seen that coming.”

“No, no, Hugo, I’m sorry, she’s not my girlfriend,” Eve blurts. “I mean, we’ve never actually called each other that. It’s like, we were just hooking up but then recently discovered we have mutual feelings for each other, but we haven’t had that conversation yet. You know? You know what I mean?”

“What’s keeping you?” Hugo leans forward onto the table. Genuinely interested.

“So many things!” Eve laughs out loud. “It’s the best and worst relationship I’ve ever been in. If I had any brains I’d forget about her, and I’d be all over you. You’re a good looking guy.”

“Thank you?”

“Just the right amount of obnoxious. Smart, but not sensible. We might have actually made a perfect match.”

“If not for your girlfriend.”

“Yep.”

“That you haven’t told your mother about, for some reason?”

“Who’s right over there!” Eve gasps.

Across the restaurant, sitting at the bar, is Villanelle. She’s been directly in Eve’s eyeline this whole time, but he restaurant is so dimly lit, she didn’t notice until now. She glances over her shoulder to look right at Eve, and smiles.

“Sorry, what?” Hugo knits his brows together. Eve leans over the table, grabs Hugo by the face, and turns him to look at Villanelle, who waves cheerfully.

“That’s my goddamn girlfriend,” Eve says, through gritted teeth. “Look how pretty.”

“I can see,” Hugo says, mangled by Eve’s hands around his cheeks. “Could you please let go?”

“Sorry,” Eve says, releasing him and plopping back down in her seat. “God, I can’t believe she came. I told her," – she raises her voice loud enough for Villanelle, and the whole restaurant to hear – “I told you there was nothing to worry about, you jealous creep!”

Villanelle turns away and begins chatting with the bartender.

“And now she’s pretending she doesn’t know me,” Eve laughs. “Classic.”

“Are things quite serious between you two then?”

“Yes? No?” Eve wonders aloud. “Dangerously so.” Eve slumps in her seat and picks at the remains of her fish. “If I had any sense at all, I’d give her up, and make another date with you.”

“But from the way you’re saying it, I gather, you’d rather live dangerously.”

“Hugo!” Eve exclaims affectionately, like he’s an old friend she’s reunited with. “You _get_ me. You get me so much after one night. That’s why it could never work out with us.”

“It’s alright. She’s pretty and jealous. I’d pick her, too,” Hugo says. “If you two are in the market for a place together, I’ll give you my card.”

Eve lifts her head wearily. “Are you seriously trying to sell me property right now?”

“I’ve just had a big letdown, finding out the beautiful woman I was quite enjoying a date with is already taken, so I’m going to try to come out of here with some kind of victory.” Hugo reaches into his wallet, pulls out a business card, and slides it across the table. “For the future. If you decide to embrace the danger. Or not,” he adds. “No reason you can’t be sensible and single in an amazing house.”

After she signs the check – the least she can do, to pay for dinner after disappointing Hugo – she slips her credit card back into her wallet, and slips Hugo’s business card right beside it.

  
No sooner has she bid Hugo a charmingly awkward goodnight and slung her purse over her shoulder than Villanelle is at her side, guiding her by the arm.

“Should I take it as a good sign, that you need to drink two bottles of wine to get through a date with someone else?” she whispers in Eve’s ear as she gently steers her towards the exit.

“I can’t believe you came to chaperone my date.”

“That’s not why I came,” Villanelle insists. “I wanted lobster.” She opens the car door and helps Eve in. Eve can’t help but giggle at the echo of Hugo’s gesture from earlier. Villanelle looks at her strangely, but doesn’t ask, as she gets in and starts the car.

“How did you even know where to find me?” Eve asks.

“When I had your phone at the game, I may have turned on the option to share your location data with me.” Seeing Eve’s appalled look, Villanelle adds, “So I could save you if you are in danger! Like tonight.”

“A date with an Oxford graduate who bears a striking resemblance to a meerkat is not ‘danger'.”

Villanelle continues as if she hadn’t heard Eve. “And I know how much you hate taking Ubers, so I figured, I could personally get you back safely.” She pulls her eyes from the mostly-empty road and steals a mischievous glance at Eve. “I have a nice Dom Perignon chilling at home, though that may not be what you want right now…”

“Take me home,” Eve says quietly.

“We don’t have to have sex,” Villanelle replies. “We can just go to bed…”

“I said, take me home.” Eve’s voice is firm, this time, as a new clarity surges through her. “It’s not because of you. I’ve realized I’m at exactly the right level of intoxication to have a conversation I’ve put off for a long time, and I need to seize the moment.”

Villanelle obliges. The rest of the ride passes in silence, until Villanelle drops Eve off at the family home. 

Eve enters to find Carolyn and Konstantin seated around the living room coffee table, working on opposite corners of a five-thousand-piece puzzle of Seurat’s _A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte_. Carolyn glances up at the sound of Eve’s entrance. Not so much as a “hello” before she asks, “How did it go?”

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” Carolyn asks with her patented mock-ignorance.

“Like you’re waiting for me to say it went badly, so you can lecture me about how I didn’t try hard enough, and I’ll be single forever.”

Konstantin looks between mother and daughter. “Should I go?”

“No,” Carolyn says.

“Yes,” Eve says.

“I will go.” Konstantin stands with a weary grunt, then retreats upstairs. 

Carolyn sighs and removes her reading glasses. “If it didn’t work out with Hugo, that is a dreadful shame, but that is how it goes with most blind dates, after all. Simple probability.”

“I’ll never be good enough for you,” Eve says. “I’ll never do things right. Never make you proud.”

“Oh dear. I fear I’m a bit behind in this conversation. What brought this on?”

“The past thirty-seven years,” Eve says. “Thirty-seven years of pretending, and dodging around the subject, and you setting hoops for me to jump through, and me running around in circles, and missing the goddamn hoop…”

Carolyn wrinkles her brow. “I must admit, you’re losing me.”

“Can you just fucking say what you mean for once?” Eve snaps, and in her anger, she stomps, rattling the coffee table, and breaking up a few pieces of the puzzle.

Carolyn takes a deep breath and puts her glasses on once more, beginning to reassemble the disturbed pieces. “I don’t know what you mean, Eve, let alone what you think _I_ mean in this moment.”

“I am not the daughter you wanted. And you know what? I will _never_ be the daughter you wanted. I am going to keep disappointing you. I am going to keep ruining your perfect British aesthetic and making a mess out of your fucking jigsaw puzzle, because that is who I am. This is what you signed on for in becoming a mother.”

“I’m trying to follow,” Carolyn says, all the while keeping her focus on the puzzle. “You believe that I find you to be a disappointment, because you didn’t form a connection with my colleague’s nephew over one dinner?”

“Yes,” Eve says. “Because of that, and because of Niko–“

“I did not say a word about Niko.”

“–and Raymond, and leaving me behind, and everything as long as I can remember! That’s how it is. And I don’t need a therapist to tell me that I can’t change your mind, so I just need to accept it. And tonight I have. I’m a big fucking disappointment. _Go me_!”

Solemnity overtakes Carolyn’s tone as she says, “I’ve never asked you to change.”

“No, but you’ve made it quite clear the way I am isn’t good enough. And the funniest thing is, you don’t even know the worst of it.”

“Whatever you’re referring to, I can’t stop you from doing it. You’re free to do whatever you like.”

Eve lets out a laugh, which, as she hears it, sounds foreign to her. Like a stranger’s laugh. “You have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“I certainly have no idea what _you’re_ saying.”

“And you never have!” Eve mimes an explosion. _Mind blown._

Carolyn stands up, straight as a ramrod. “You’re clearly in a state. I think you’d best go to bed.” She extends her arm towards the stairs commandingly.

“Are you telling me to go to my room?” Eve laughs in disbelief.

“I suppose I am.”

“I can’t stay here anymore.” Eve pulls up the strap of her purse and stomps towards the door.

“Eve? Are you headed to Bill’s again?” Carolyn calls after her. “At least buy the man a bottle of wine for his trouble–“

Eve slams the door shut, sealing away the sound of her mother’s last withering command. She realizes she made a miscalculation. She’s definitely too drunk to drive, so she’ll call an Uber…

As she totters across the lawn to the sidewalk, fumbling with her phone, she notes a car with its lights on a bit down the road. A few tottering steps closer, and she confirms: it’s Villanelle.

She manages her way to the car, leaning on the roof for support while Villanelle rolls down the passenger side window. “Are you lost?” Eve slurs. “Why are you still here?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Villanelle mutters. 

“Can’t be any more embarrassing than everything I’ve done tonight.”

Villanelle glances away as she admits, “I was waiting to see the light in your bedroom go on. I wanted to make sure you got up to bed.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Eve says, and tugs uselessly at the door handle. “Unlock it,” she whines.

“I’m trying!” Villanelle replies. “You have stop – stop pulling it, Eve!”

Eve throws her hands up in the air in surrender, and waits for the click of Villanelle successfully unlocking the door. Then she climbs in.

“Change your mind?” Villanelle asks.

“Yeah,” Eve mumbles. “Does the offer still stand? To stay with you.”

“Of course,” Villanelle says.

“I don’t mean for tonight,” Eve mumbles.

“Neither do I,” Villanelle says, beginning the drive down the quiet suburban street. “We can open the Dom Perignon tomorrow.”

The car’s headlights form twin paths of white light, illuminating slivers of the dark road ahead of them. Out the side window, pinpricks of white from streetlights whiz by in the dark, to hypnotic effect. 

Eve’s eyelids grow heavy as she slumps against the headrest. She’s halfway drifted off by the time Villanelle asks, “Girlfriend, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got ABBA stuck in my head now. Anyone else? (p.s. you can listen to the playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uZynKCs2OZ1gxKmYX4XDG))
> 
> lemme know what ya think. or come befriend me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo
> 
> P.S.: please enjoy some art of this chapter by [tilthestarsturnblue](https://tilthestarsburnblue.tumblr.com/post/620037334089564160/i-was-inspired-to-doodle-this-scene-from) :)


	17. Good Kisser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Konstantin asks Eve for help debunking a theory.

_“Should I have been wasting my time on you at all?_  
_Should I have seen the bright red writing on the wall?_  
_Well, I’ve still got time…”_  
—Lake Street Dive

* * *

“Do you remember the name of that mountain resort Mum used to take us to? Back when I was small. The one in New Hampshire?”

“The Red Jacket.” As Eve utters the name, she recalls memories of winter vacations, when she was a tween and Kenny barely speaking in full sentences. Horse-drawn carriages, roasting marshmallows, eating dinner while enjoying mountain views. Simpler times.

“Great, thanks,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee, and jotting the name down on the top of the pile of assignments he’d been grading as a part of his TA work. “Been trying to plan a trip with Elena. Might try to sweep her up there for the last bit of April break.”

“Things are going well?”

“Yeah.” The mere fact that Kenny is able to look Eve in the eye as he answers, without turning beet red, is a testament to how comfortable he feels in the relationship.

“Hey.” Eve says. “Not to get all sappy on you, but it’s my job as your big sister. Since you’re with Elena, you’re the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“She’s pretty great,” Kenny says, finally blushing.

“I’m happy for you.” For once, Eve is able to say it without a molecule of bitterness, without a shred of envy. 

“Speaking of nothing,” Kenny says, as he shuffles the papers into a neat stack, “When are you coming back home?”

“I don’t know,” Eve mutters, fidgeting with her empty coffee cup. “Never?”

“You can’t stay with Bill forever,” Kenny says. “He’s trying to start a family!”

“I’m not staying with Bill,” Eve says, a defensive edge to her tone.

Kenny frowns, then understanding dawns over his face. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Thanks for reminding me, though,” Eve says. “I need to give Bill a heads up.”

Eve pulls out her phone, and types a message to Bill: _if anyone in my family asks, I’m staying with you again, okay?_

Seconds later, his reply: _How charitable of me to allow that!_

Eve smiles and types: _I’ll buy you a fictional bottle of wine. Or a real one. Give Keiko my best._

“Are you really going to hide out at Villanelle’s forever?” Kenny asks.

“I’m not hiding.”

“What else would you prefer I call it?” Kenny says. “You’re certainly going out of your way to avoid Mum, even more than usual.”

“God, it wasn’t even a big deal. We fought. Like we do.”

“I hope you’re able to do your non-apology thing soon,” Kenny says. “I don’t like being a go-between.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Eve says. “If she wants to talk to me, she can come directly.” Not that Eve expects for even a second that Carolyn will do so.

After pivoting to some lighter subjects, like “how about those Patriots?”, Eve hugs Kenny goodbye and sends him off to finish grading his papers. It’s nice to see him like this, to hang out like adults. Two adults whose lives are going quite smoothly. He’s got his PhD; Eve’s got her new job. He has Elena; Eve has Villanelle. If Eve simply ignores the fact that her relationship comes with a predestined deadline, that she’s currently lying to her family about where she’s staying, and that she’s not speaking to her mother (what else is new?), then for the first time in months, she can pretend like she’s doing rather well in life.

She is enjoying her current situation – mostly. Staying with Villanelle comes with its share of pros and cons.

Pros: shorter commute.

After leaving Kenny, she heads straight to Beacon Hill, much less stressful than getting back out to the suburbs along with the tsunami of rush-hour traffic leaving Boston.

Con: parking sucks.

She circles the blocks for fifteen minutes before finally beating a dinged-up Kia to a tiny spot that she just barely manages to parallel park in, though she might not be able to get out of it in the morning.

Pro: she gets to greet her girlfriend immediately after a long day at work.

When she makes it up to apartment 3A, Villanelle is there waiting for her. Eve drops her work bag to the floor and throws her arms around Villanelle. The soft feel of her cashmere sweater. The pungent scent of her perfume. Everything about her welcomes Eve at once. Except…

Con: no kisses.

Villanelle catches Eve staring at her lips – not like Eve’s being subtle about it, after all – and tuts disapprovingly. “Have you been good today?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eve sighs, and pulls off her blazer, revealing the nicotine patch stuck to her bicep. She’s reduced the dosage over the week; it’s easier to quit this time, after a brief relapse, than it had been for her to give up smoking after several years of it in college.

“Good,” Villanelle says. “Only two more days left.”

Last weekend, when Eve and Villanelle had reconciled their very ill-advised yet irresistible feelings for each other, Eve lit up her final cigarette on Saturday night before Villanelle plucked it from her fingers and reminded Eve that she had to make a choice – smoking, or Villanelle.

“It’s simple,” she’d said solemnly. “I am not going anywhere near your lips until a week after a cigarette has touched them.”

Eve rolled her eyes and set an alarm on her phone for one week’s time.

“Come on,” Eve begs. “It’s been five days. There’s no trace of tobacco left in my system.”

“I have an exceptional sense of taste,” Villanelle insists. “Plus, you need to earn it.”

Her tactics had proven cruel but effective thus far. Luckily, it was only kissing she’d banned – if they couldn’t do other things, Eve would’ve lost her mind already. But Villanelle doesn’t have the willpower to keep her hands completely off of Eve for a whole week, especially now that they spend every night in the same bed.

Ever the hospitable roommate, Villanelle asks Eve about her day, and since work doesn’t offer much excitement to speak of, Eve skips right to summarizing her conversation with Kenny.

“He’s planning a trip for him and Elena,” Eve says. “They’re so adorable, I could almost choke on it.”

“A weekend getaway, huh?” Villanelle says. “Sounds nice.”

“It does,” Eve says, recognizing the mischievous glint in Villanelle’s eye, seeing the plan forming already. “But I don’t know when we’d do it. Looking ahead, between work and wedding prep, there’s really no time that would work.”

“What about this weekend?”

“Like, tomorrow?” Eve says. “That’s crazy.”

“Why?” Villanelle says. “Let me look at travel bookings. I bet I can get us a flight to Paris.” She rushes to grab her computer, excited. “You have not seen Paris properly until I’ve shown you around.” 

“Okay, first off, Paris is swell, but I am not enduring jet lag for a weekend trip,” Eve says. “More importantly, I can’t traipse off to another country this weekend. I have plans.”

Villanelle scoffs. “What plans?”

“I’m supposed to look at some places this weekend. Houses.”

“Houses?” Villanelle starts to giggle.

“Is that funny?”

“Are you readying yourself to be a grandmother already?”

“No, but I’m sick of paying rent,” Eve explains. “It’s like flushing money down the drain. Now that I have a job, and I’ve settled on staying around here, it’s time for something more permanent.”

Villanelle straightens up. “You’re staying at that job forever?”

“Yeah,” Eve says. “I mean, I guess. Didn’t really enjoy application grind, and I’m not overcome with an overwhelming urge to relocate again, so unless I get headhunted, this is probably it.”

Villanelle stares off behind Eve for a moment, lost in thought. Then, perks up. “Houses will still be there next week. We are going away. No more arguing.”

“Fine, you wore me down,” Eve says. She can call Hugo to reschedule the showings he set up for her – he’s already accustomed to Eve disappointing him. 

“I’ll get tickets.”

“Hold on,” Eve says. “If I’m cancelling plans for this, I want to pick where we go.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Villanelle says, considering. “Just don’t pick somewhere stupid.”

“You’ll like it,” Eve says. An idea came to her from the recesses of her memory. Reminiscing with Kenny brought back another location she hasn’t seen in years, a fragment of a happier past.

* * *

  
With Eve’s direction, Villanelle takes the lead on planning, renting them a cabin for the weekend, making their getaway official.

Eve can hardly focus on work the next day. Fridays always feel long, but this one feels like the longest of her life. Eve could swear the VP of Sales is speaking in slow motion as she sits through an agonizingly dull meeting on last quarter’s numbers. 

It feels like a month has passed by the time she makes it to lunch. She’s about to grab her wallet and head across the street to get a sandwich when her phone rings. 

“Hello, Eve. Are you busy?” Konstantin’s voice greets her.

“I’m just leaving for lunch.”

“Mind if I join you? I’d like to talk.”

“Um, sure.” Eve has no idea what brought this on, but she can’t see an easy reason to decline.

“Wonderful. I will meet you outside.”

Sure enough, when Eve makes it down to the lobby, she finds Konstantin waiting for her.

“Hello,” he says again. They stand and stare at each other.

“Hi,” Eve says. “Mind if we go across the street while we talk? I gotta eat something.”

“Of course,” Konstantin says, and lets Eve lead the way to her preferred sandwich joint across the street.

“So is this a sudden desire to connect, or…”

“Carolyn didn’t send me here,” Konstantin says. “I have nothing to say about the stubborn bickering between you and your mother. I wouldn’t get in the middle of that for all the money in the world. I want to talk to you about _my_ daughter.”

Eve swallows, and feigns ignorance. “Irina?”

“Villanelle is acting very suspicious lately,” Konstantin says. “And I need your help.”

“Sure,” Eve croaks.

“Because there are some things, that as a father, I think about, but do not go over so well when I ask…”

“Like what?”

“I think Villanelle is seeing someone in secret.”

Eve’s heart leaps into her throat, but she’s now at the front of the line, and the poor young man at the counter is waiting to take her order. Eve manages to squeak it out and offer her credit card, then shuffles to a table by the window, where Konstantin sits across from her, folding his arms solemnly.

“She’s sneaking around, acting distant, dodging questions,” Konstantin says. “I know she is hiding something. Or someone.”

“Maybe she’s got a good reason,” Eve says. “Maybe you should just respect her business.”

“I raised her to be honest,” Konstantin says. “And most of the time, she is.”

“Really? She tells you about every person she ever sees?”

“Yes,” Konstantin says. “Sometimes it is too much.”

Eve knows this all too well from personal experience, so she says nothing, and takes a big bite of her sandwich to stall.

“That is why this makes me worried,” Konstantin continues. “If she is sneaking someone around behind my back, who is this person? She does not get ashamed easily.”

“Uh-huh,” Eve mutters.

“When she gets secretive, it is always a bad sign. The last time she was sneaky like this was with her French tutor.”

A spark ignites in Eve’s gut. This story is hazily familiar; Villanelle brought it up only once, but didn’t go into her characteristic level of unsolicited detail, and in fact, brushed it aside. “What happened?”

“She was nineteen. Anna was a young woman as well, twenty-five perhaps, but married. I only wish I had seen the danger sooner, and separated her sooner.”

“What happened?” Eve repeats.

“She was… entranced. Everything was about Anna. Wanted to give her gifts to win her love. I had to bribe a shop manager at one point not to hand her over to the police when she got caught shoplifting designer clothes. She would speak about love and their life together… only Anna was married already! I could not tell if it was real, or if Villanelle was only fantasizing, so I didn’t step in. Her mother would’ve known.” Konstantin falls into a pained silence for a moment. Eve waits patiently.

“Once I found out it was more than a schoolgirl’s longing, I knew it wouldn’t end well. I took us out of the country immediately. Moved us to France a month earlier than planned. And I’m glad I did. If I hadn’t, I can’t say what she might have done.”

Eve chuckles at Konstantin’s gravitas, then realizes he’s serious. “What are you implying?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what scares me,” Konstantin says. “All I know is, the day before we left, she came home in a fury, screaming and crying. I told her to pack her things immediately and marched her straight to the airport. In the weeks after we moved, I caught her trying to fly back to Russia, twice. And she had bus tickets booked to the place where Anna’s husband worked.”

A prickle goes down Eve’s spine. “And you think something like that is happening again?”

“I hope not,” Konstantin says. “But she told me she is going to Paris for the weekend. Yet, she hasn’t bought any tickets on her main airline account. Why would she lie about this?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird and controlling to spy on your adult daughter like that?”

“That is why I need your help.”

Eve puts her sandwich down. She’s lost her appetite.“What do you want from me?”

“She will get angry and even sneakier if she knows I am onto her. So can you investigate? It will be better received coming from you.”

“You want me to spy on her?”

“I thought you always wanted to be a spy,” Konstantin says with a laugh.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable getting in the middle of this,” Eve says.

“Please. I just want to know for sure that I am wrong. That my worries are unfounded, so I can sleep at night.” Konstantin pleads. “Keep an eye on her this weekend?”

Eve sighs. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. That’s all I can promise. But I’m not going to tail her or anything. Besides, I’m off to Chicago tonight. Work trip.” So goes the excuse she’d concocted for the weekend.

“Whatever you find, I will appreciate so much,” Konstantin says. “I look out for my family. And we are family now, too, Eve.”

Eve tries her hardest to focus on work for the rest of the day. She tries her hardest to forget what Konstantin told her, but it’s no use; she can’t un-hear it. 

She doesn’t want to believe whatever Konstantin was implying – would a young, heartbroken Villanelle pose any true threat to the lover that spurned her, or the husband she’d chosen over Villanelle? It can’t be true. But at the same time, Eve’s dogged by memories of her own relationship with Villanelle – moments that she saw as cute and quirky at first, which now seem like potential red flags.

Villanelle tracking her location, following her on her date with Hugo, then waiting to watch her go up to her bedroom – cute and protective, or jealous and possessive?

Villanelle, at the softball game, looking through Eve’s phone without hesitation – playful and all in good fun, or a worrying breach of boundaries?

Other tiny moments buzz around in Eve’s mind, forming an angry swarm of evidence. Villanelle looking through the boxes in Eve’s bedroom, her childhood things, without invitation. Her absurd level of concern over how Eve spends her money, and her constant attempts to buy Eve things. Even something as innocuous as surprising Eve after her job interview. It seemed sweet at the time, but was it truly the beginning of borderline stalking?

Eve lays her head against her desk, fighting the urge to actually beat the thoughts from her head. This is insane – the Villanelle she knows is passionate, loyal, and admittedly a little odd, but not in a threatening way. Right? 

So why did Konstantin’s dire warning strike a chord deep in Eve’s gut, in whatever organ handles the fight-or-flight response? 

Fear bubbles in Eve’s mind like an evil stew for the rest of the day. She feels twenty years older by the time the clock finally strikes five and she’s able to snatch up her bag and run out the door, to where Villanelle is waiting for her with her car double parked right in front of Eve’s building.

As soon as she catches a glimpse of Villanelle’s catlike grin through the windshield, Eve’s fear evaporates. What was that nutty story Konstantin told her? That shining sunflower face sitting in the driver’s seat could never hurt anyone.

She climbs into the car, and once again, has to restrain herself from giving a kiss in greeting. 

“Ready for a road trip?” Villanelle asks.

“It’s only like, an hour and a half drive,” Eve says. “Maybe two with traffic.”

“I bet I can make it in one.” 

“Please stay close to the speed limit, for my sanity,” Eve says. “Also, we gotta swing by your apartment for my things.”

“No, we don’t,” Villanelle says, throwing the car into drive. “I packed you a bag.” She nods towards the backseat.

Eve unbuckles for a moment, and reaches back to grab the small suitcase Villanelle propped on the seat. She unzips it to find not her own clothes, but an assortment of brand-new summer clothes. Shirts, shorts, lingerie, even a bathing suit.

“Save your breath. I will do the whole argument, since I know it by heart,” Villanelle says, then takes on a deep mocking voice. “‘You shouldn’t have, Villanelle.’ ‘Oh, but I care about you so much Eve.’ ‘You’re right. You are so sexy, and thank you for the clothes that don’t look like they belong on an acrylic mannequin.’”

Eve doesn’t laugh at the show. She stares down at the suitcase full of clothes as Konstantin’s story floats back to the forefront of her mind. She imagines young Villanelle trying to steal designer clothes to win a woman’s affections, and nearly getting arrested in the process. No wonder Villanelle is so proud to plop down a credit card these days, and buy expensive goods without the hassle.

She carelessly shoves the clothes back in the suitcase, then zips it and tosses it into the backseat. She doesn’t want to think about that anymore. 

The sick feeling sits with her for a while, but by the time they’re driving through Stoneham, her uneasiness is swept away by the simple joy of singing along to the car radio, along with Villanelle’s very off-key attempts. 

One hour and forty-four minutes later (even getting liberal with speed limits, Villanelle couldn’t do anything about the traffic), they arrive at their charming rental cottage a stone’s throw from the seashore in Rockport, MA.

It’s already dark when they arrive, plus they’re both exhausted from the workday and the drive, so they order takeout and crash by nine-thirty. As they curl up in the king-sized bed, Eve wills herself to pass out quickly, before the dark thoughts come back to plague her.

* * *

They wake early, with the sun. Villanelle reveals with a devilish grin that she paid extra to the owner to make sure the fridge came pre-stocked with some essentials, and bites her lip adorably. “So you can make us breakfast,” she begs. Eve doesn’t need much persuasion, so in a few minutes, they’re munching sausage and eggs with their feet up on the coffee table in the spacious living room. 

“What first?” Eve asks around a mouthful of egg. “We could try to set up on the beach before it gets too crowded. And before you get snobby again, these North Shore beaches are nice. It’s why I wanted to come up here.”

“Maybe,” Villanelle says. “Or we could leave the beach for tomorrow. I was reading some of the pamphlets in the guest binder over there, and it looks like there’s a lot of shopping to be done first.”

“Glad you have your priorities straight as ever,” Eve laughs. She leans forward without thinking, then catches herself. Villanelle smirks; she knows what Eve was about to do. But another ten hours remain before Villanelle’s kiss embargo is to be lifted. Hopefully the stress of waiting won’t make Eve reach for a cigarette and ruin it all.

Eve dresses in some of the wares Villanelle bought for her, selecting a pair of high-waisted khaki shorts and a light blue sleeveless button-down from the suitcase. She ties her hair up in a high twist, and beckons for Villanelle to help her get a coating of sunscreen. The touch of Villanelle’s cool fingers massaging the cream into the nape of her neck and her shoulder blades sends a quiver through Eve. Then, she does the same for Villanelle, and they’re ready for the day.

Eve takes the lead, since she knows the way around, though honestly it would be a feat to get lost in Rockport. Their rental is a mere two-minute stroll to the heart of town, where shops line three short streets between the beach and the harbor. Though it’s small, it’s packed with things to do and sights to see, and the particular cocktail of sights, sounds, and smells brings forth a delightful burst of nostalgia for Eve. The town has hardly changed since she was last here over ten years ago.

“Here. This is the number one stop.” Eve pulls Villanelle to a stop in front of her favorite family-owned candy store. “They make everything on site. Truffles, gummies, chocolate coated everything. It’s fucking delicious. And look, you can watch them stretch the taffy.”

She leads Villanelle a few steps farther down to a window at the side of the store, which presents a clear view of the taffy-making room. A machine with long arms pulls an elastic batter in between the spindles at the end of each arm, turning in endless circles, stretching it back and forth endlessly like a rubber band.

Villanelle stares, hypnotized by the swirling motion of the machine. “Wow,” she murmurs. “That looks disgusting.”

Eve rolls her eyes, grabs her hand, and pulls her into the main shop. An elderly man in a checked shirt and apron stands behind the counter; Eve recognizes him as one of the owners, from her past trips here, over a decade ago.

“Look how many flavors there are.” Eve says, with a sweeping gesture around the room. Piles of individually wrapped bits of taffy in all the colors of the rainbow surround them. “I’m sure you’d like one of them.”

“I don’t know,” Villanelle says. “I’ve never had taffy.”

“Never?” the owner gasps. “Young lady, that breaks my heart. Please, help yourself. On the house.”

“Thank you,” Villanelle says, then reaches into a bin in front of her and pulls out a pastel pink taffy. She unwraps it from its wax paper, then pops it in her mouth. Eve watches her reaction eagerly. Her face is at first apprising, then confused, then chewing, chewing, chewing. While her jaw works at the soft taffy, Eve can’t help but stare at her lips. Pinker than the pink candy. Just as soft, Eve’s sure, if she could only lean in and…

Villanelle finally swallows, and licks her lips. She smacks her arm down on the shop counter, and bellows, “I want a hundred!”

The owner chuckles and hands Villanelle a white paper bag. She snatches it up, then darts around the shop to scoop great handfuls of taffy from the various barrels around the room, where they’re sorted according to flavor. Eve shoots an apologetic look to the old man, who shrugs like he’s seen this reaction before.

She stuffs the first bag full in thirty seconds and hurries to demand a second bag, but Eve grabs her arm. “Don’t go too crazy,” she says. “Gotta save some room for fudge.”

Villanelle’s eyes light up, and Eve imagines, if she were a puppy, her tail would be wagging furiously.

Eve leads the way out to the center of the row of shops, where a square building squats in the center of it all, bearing a sign in huge gold lettering above the door: _FUDGERY_.

They emerge a few minutes later, weighed down by several pounds of handmade fudge in various flavors. Classic milk, dark, peanut butter, cookies and cream, mint, maple, and various combinations thereof. Eve swears up and down that each pound is destined as a gift for someone she knows (or at least, the few that already know about her and Villanelle, so the fudge won’t blow her cover), but by the time they’ve looped down the street and back, several ounces are already in her and Villanelle’s stomach.

Having thoroughly spoiled lunch _and_ dinner already, they while away the hours snacking and walking it off simultaneously, while the sun begins to sink in the sky.

After their second lap of the pier, they notice a jewelry store they haven’t explored yet and pop inside, slinging their shopping bags high up on their shoulders and out of the way.

A bell rings as they enter, and woman with a salt-and-pepper pixie cut welcomes them. Villanelle begins chatting her up, and she explains how she and her partner handcraft all the pieces in the store at their studio in Beverly. 

Meanwhile, Eve browses the shelves. There’s quite a range of style represented: some pieces are kitschy, but others are stunning. Eve marvels at a necklace with a polished silver pendant set with tiny crystals, like stars. 

Then, she makes her way over to the display case full of earrings, watches, and other small pieces. Eve peers down through the glass at a cushioned tray of custom rings, and something catches her eye. “Excuse me,” she says to the clerk. “Could I try that one there? With the etchings.”

The woman reaches into the case, removes the tray of rings, and retrieves the one Eve indicated, offering it to her. “White gold. Custom design, handmade here in Massachusetts.”

Eve slides it onto her finger, right next to her birthstone ring. She holds it up to the light to examine it more closely. From far away, it looked like a simple textured finish, but closer inspection reveals a beautifully detailed engraving of waves, tossing like a choppy stormy ocean. 

“We also can add a setting, if there’s a stone that’s special to you,” the saleswoman says, nodding at Eve’s aquamarine ring.

“Thank you,” Eve says, sliding it off her finger. “It’s beautiful. Maybe another time.”

Eve turns to find Villanelle hovering behind her. Instinctively, she prepares a rebuttal for Villanelle’s inevitable offer to buy her the ring, plus a necklace to match, and the entire contents of the store, most likely, but Villanelle just says, “Ready to move on?” and gestures for Eve to lead the way back outside.

They explore various art galleries, mainly filled with watercolor beach vistas. Villanelle throws a few in her shopping back seemingly at random. “To make the apartment feel more like home,” she says, to fend off Eve’s curious glance.

By the time sunset turns to twilight, they’re heavily weighed down with the various wares they’ve purchased. “Tomorrow better be a beach day,” Eve says. “I don’t think there’s anything left to buy, even if you wanted to.”

Villanelle giggles, and the bell-like sound of her laugh carries off into the night, as they reach the end of the road. The paved path ends in a miniature cul-de-sac, lined with tourist telescopes, and a small ledge around the path gives way to a rocky outcrop that juts into the Atlantic Ocean.

“Let’s go,” Villanelle says.

“Where?”

“Out there.” Villanelle points to the end of the outcrop, where a tiny lightpost stands, highlighting the obstacle for boats.

“Okay–” Eve’s phone buzzes, and as she reaches for it to decline the call, she notices Konstantin’s name. She waves for Villanelle to go on ahead, stage-whispering, “Work call”, then walks a safe distance away before answering.

“What is it?” Eve hisses. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

Konstantin cuts right to business. “Electronic tolling system on the Mass Pike caught Villanelle’s license plate yesterday afternoon.” 

“You looked at the tolling records?” Eve says, aghast.

“I have a friend,” Konstantin says.

 _Runs in the family,_ Eve thinks.

“Isn’t that a really dangerous abuse of power?” Eve asks.

Konstantin ignores her. “Villanelle is not in Paris. She left Boston, heading north. Then the trail disappeared.”

“And?”

“Where could she possibly be?” Konstantin bellows.

“Maine? Or Canada,” Eve keeps her tone light. Chances a joke. “Maybe she’s on the run.”

“She did not cross state borders. Where would she go on the North Shore?”

“Marblehead? Swampscott? Beverly? Gloucester? Ipswich?”

“You need to take this seriously,” Konstantin growls.

“Look, I can tell you’re distressed, but I don’t know what you want from me,” Eve says. “Meanwhile, I really need to get back to a meeting.”

“You are in a meeting on a Saturday evening?”

“Drinks with the Chicago office. Social networking. You get it.”

“Eve…”

“I’m sure Villanelle is fine. If it’s that important to you, I can talk to her next week.”

“By then it may be too late.”

“Carolyn keeps Ambien hidden in the cabinet in the downstairs bathroom. I suggest you take one,” Eve says. “Good night.” Then she hangs up.

She tucks her phone away, and looks over to Villanelle’s silhouette, dark against the deep blue of the dusk sky over the harbor. She’s perched on the small ledge that separates the end of the street from the trail of rocks, beckoning for Eve to follow.

“What do I do with these?” Eve holds up their various shopping bags.

“Leave them,” Villanelle says. “No one’s around. It will be fine.”

Though Eve has some reservations about leaving bags full of hundreds of dollars of food, clothes, and art sitting unguarded out in the open, she has stronger reservations about fighting with Villanelle right now. There’s an edge underneath her tone, even as she playfully invites Eve to climb out onto the rocks with her, like the blade of a knife stretched underneath a coating of pink silk. 

_No._ Eve shakes it off. Konstantin’s paranoia got in her head, plus all the sugar she’s eaten instead of real food today has her head fuzzy. _There’s nothing to worry about._

Villanelle leads the way as they explore the path of rocks that curls out into the sea like an outstretched arm. Gently curved, like a replica of Cape Cod in miniature. 

It’s easy going at first, as the first stretch of rocks near the road are large and mostly flat. The farther out they venture, however, the more jagged the path becomes, with rocks jutting out at awkward angles, and larger gaps between them. Eve begins to wish she had sneakers or boots on instead of her leather sandals, which slip on the surface of the more steeply slanted stones.

Eve’s heart pounds, not from the threat of stumbling and at worst, scraping a knee, but at the incessant echo of Konstantin’s words in her brain that refuses to be silenced. 

_It may be too late._

He has to be wrong. Eve knows Villanelle. But then again, doesn’t her father know her better than anyone? If he’s right, and Villanelle is exhibiting similar behavior to what she did in the past, and that relationship didn’t end happily…

Eve doesn’t want to think about it. But the fact is, in their inherently doomed relationship, the way that Villanelle reacts to heartbreak is in fact an extremely relevant topic.

Finally, they come to the end of the rocky peninsula, and Villanelle takes Eve’s hand, helping her out to a flat patch at the end. They situate themselves comfortably, legs dangling down the sloped edge, only a few feet above the water. Villanelle scoots close to Eve and puts her arm around Eve’s shoulders.

By the time Eve consciously registers how her body tensed up at Villanelle’s touch, it’s too late to hide it – Villanelle noticed, too. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Villanelle commands. “Something has been up all weekend. I can tell because you’re ten percent less chatty than usual. Now you’re acting like a scared kitten. Tell me what is going on.”

“Konstantin came to see me yesterday,” Eve admits. Once she’s begun, the story spills out of her easily. “He thinks you’re in a secret relationship. And wanted _me_ to investigate. Which is whatever. Means he doesn’t know the truth. But he also said he’s worried because…”

“Because?”

“He told me about Anna.”

Silence. Eve doesn’t need to say any more.

“So he is worried,” Villanelle repeats, like she’s testing out the words.

“That the same thing might happen again,” Eve says.

“It was a long time ago.”

“I know.”

“Are _you_ worried?” Villanelle’s tone is calm, but there’s a weight behind it. A dare. A threat?

“I wanted to hear your side of it,” Eve says. “I guess.”

Some time passes before Villanelle answers. Eve almost wants to check her phone, to see how long it’s been. Two minutes? Three? Five?

Eventually, she stirs, pulling her knees close to her chest, and says, “Eve, have you ever had your heart broken?”

 _Of course,_ Eve thinks, though she senses the question was rhetorical. The waves lap gently against the rocks as Eve searches for the right words. “Did you really… were you really going to do something to him?”

“It was a bad relationship,” Villanelle mutters, idly scuffing her heel against the stone. “That’s all.”

“From what your dad said, it was a little more than that.”

“And who are you to talk?” Villanelle snaps, abruptly alight with fury. “Remind me to never go into the woods and cut wood with you, Choppy.”

“We’ve all made mistakes. I’m not denying that,” Eve says. “I just… I need to know.”

“Why?”

“If I told you that it’s over between us, what would you do?”

Those words burn Eve’s throat as they come out of her. They’re acid. Like throwing up – and also like throwing up, they _had_ to come out.

Villanelle’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “Are you saying that?”

“What if, on June third, I said that?”

Eve tenses up, waiting for Villanelle’s response like bracing herself for a car crash. It occurs to her, they’re out on the end of the rocks. By the sea. At night. No one is around. Eve feels fear creep through her as she’s overcome by an unpleasant premonition of herself on an episode of _To Catch a Predator_.

Villanelle’s eyes are so cold, Eve expects the small, peaked waves to freeze solid under her icy glare. She stares down at the water for a long time. Arms clasped over her knees. The veins on Villanelle’s hands standing out with how tightly she clenches herself, forming shadows in the dim moonlight.

When her words finally come, they’re aimed out at the ocean.

“I would never hurt you, Eve.”

As soon as they escape her lips, they’re carried off on the cool sea breeze. Like Mother Nature is snatching the promise away for her records. Might as well be a signed and notarized contract.

The eerie silence is broken unceremoniously by a tweet emanating from Eve’s pocket. She pulls out her phone to see the alarm she’d set exactly seven days ago, after Villanelle threw out her last pack, chirping right on schedule. Officially a week since her last cigarette.

“It’s time.” Villanelle stares at Eve, her pupils huge and glowing in the moonlight reflected off the waves.

Eve lets her eyes fall shut, lets Villanelle come to her. Her lips are soft and sweet. She smells like sunscreen and sea spray, and she tastes like strawberry taffy. Better than Eve possibly could’ve remembered. 

Eve pauses, to breathe, and whispers, with her lips still pressed against Villanelle’s, “Worth the wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I laid in bed last night, I awoke in a cold sweat when I realized I had a factual flaw in the plan for this chapter. Instead of fixing an error that 99% of readers wouldn’t notice anyway, I decided to be lazy, and leave it in as an Easter Egg. Like one of those kid’s games, “Spot What’s Wrong”. So, did any Massholes reading this see the problem? If you guess it, I’ll give you a high five and a shoutout in next chapter’s notes.
> 
> you can also find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


	18. L-O-V-E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve shows Villanelle the Boston Marathon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to taare and Vaultdweller for catching the Massachusetts mistake in the last chapter! :) There’s another MUCH smaller factual flaw in this chapter. I don’t expect anyone to find it. It’s very subtle, and also obscure knowledge. But, here’s your invitation, if you spot it, to call it out… (watch me get called out for tons of other errors I’ve made without noticing, rather than the one I’m aware of)

  
_“V is very, very extraordinary.”_  
—Nat King Cole

* * *

  
Bright and early on Patriots’ Day, more commonly known as Marathon Monday, the family gathers at a small but elegant brunch joint in Coolidge Corner. It’s strangely reminiscent of that first breakfast, back in February, when Eve met Villanelle – well, not met her, but learned who she really is. The same forced formality, accompanied by the same burning pain that Eve feels at being forced to sit in public at a table with her mother.

However, this time, Elena is there, Irina is not (she’s already off with some of her school friends, watching the race from the finish line), and Eve and Villanelle ended up next to each other at the table instead of across from each other.

A lot else has changed, too.

For instance, at the first brunch, Eve was extremely hung over, coming off the high of hooking up with a stranger in a club only to have her pride turned to shame when she discovered her unexpected relation to said stranger.

Now, Eve’s fresh back from an unbelievable beach weekend with Villanelle. The shopping was great. The sun was great. The sea was great. The sex was _phenomenal_.

Yet, she feels an odd wave of nostalgia for that first day.

Back then, even though she was nauseous with dehydration and with the revelation that her attractive stranger from the club was soon to be a part of her family, she retained one very, very important power, that she has long since surrendered.

Choice.

As miserable as she was back then, she still had several paths to choose from, one of which would’ve been to wisely remove herself from the entire situation, fly back to LA until the wedding day, and never let her attraction get the better of her. She could’ve hit the dating apps in full force and produced a suitably respectable wedding date, which could’ve grown into a long-term relationship. Or who knows, she could’ve spent her time finding a therapist instead and learning to love herself and arrived at the wedding single and self-secured, and maybe, maybe finally made peace with her mother.

Now, she’s fucked her future stepsister more times than she can count, been caught in the act by her brother, added feelings into the mix despite numerous warning signs that the relationship is heading for a disastrous end, and somehow managed to tear up her relationship with her mother even worse than before, even though Carolyn still hasn’t found out about Eve and Villanelle.

Yet, in spite of all that, Eve is happy. Stupid happy. Giddy happy.

Ever since they came back from Rockport, it’s like she’s floating on a cloud of bubbles. Bubbles from the Atlantic Ocean sea foam, which are replaced by bubbles in the champagne at brunch. She’s not free, but she’s fizzy.

Ignorance is bliss, after all, and Eve decides that even willful ignorance will suffice in this case. So she decides to keep her rose-colored glasses on and enjoy the rest of the roller-coaster ride, pretending she can’t plainly see where the track ends and runs into a pit of spikes and lava.

This is all on her mind while she works her way through her fifteen-dollar omelet.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Elena announces suddenly. 

“I’ll join you,” Villanelle says.

“Me too,” Kenny mutters, and stands up as well.

Eve glares around at them, suspiciously, before the three traitors scamper away.

Konstantin slowly rises, glances at Eve, and doesn’t bother to give an excuse, he just walks away.

Eve and Carolyn are left alone.

They avoid each other’s gaze and pick at the remains of their food for a few minutes, until Carolyn places down her fork with finality.

“It appears as though we’ve been set up,” she says. “Might we make the most of it?”

“Not necessary,” Eve mutters.

“I suspect they won’t return until we’re hugging and crying, or have at least drawn up a sort of peace treaty,” Carolyn says. “So for lack of preferable options, we might as well discuss the night you left.”

“Fine,” Eve says. “I got a little wound up, a little short. Trying to quit smoking had me on a short fuse…”

“Or perhaps it was the gallon of wine in your body?”

“It was a bad night,” Eve says, drawing a firm line before Carolyn can offer other disparaging explanations.

“We all have them. I’m glad you got that one out of your system before the wedding.”

Eve bites her tongue. If she opens her mouth even a crack, she knows something even more inflammatory will escape.

“I only wish,” Carolyn says, softly. “I only wish you’d recognize, Eve, that I want the best for you.”

“I wish you’d recognize that maybe I can decide what’s best for myself.”

Eve knows Carolyn must be biting _her_ tongue now, to restrain herself from some sharp retort about how Eve’s entire life is a clear demonstration that she is not capable of making wise decisions for herself.

No more apologies pass between them; it’s not their style.

After several minutes, the eavesdroppers evidently decide that a stony silence is the closest to a reconciliation they’re going to get, and return to the table one at a time like nothing happened.

“Now that we’re all fed, is everyone excited to go watch the race?” Elena says.

“You have fun,” Konstantin tells them. “We are going to stay far away from the crowds.”

“It’s my first marathon. I want to see it properly,” Elena says. “Eve, would you come with us? I want the guidance of a native.”

“Hey,” Kenny says. “What about me?”

“Come on. You’ve hardly spent more time in the States than I have,” Elena teases.

“If you are all going, can I tag along?” Villanelle asks.

Elena smirks. Of course, the entire conversation was a performance for the parents to provide an easy excuse for Villanelle to join them. 

“The more the merrier,” Eve says. And so the four of them leave the parents behind in Brookline and walk towards the marathon route.

“By the way,” Eve growls, as soon as they’re out of earshot. “Thanks for that little stunt.”

“It was Kenny’s idea!” Villanelle says, pointing her finger. “I just went along with it.”

“Like I told you before,” Kenny says. “I’m tired of playing go-between with you and Mum. You had to do your sniping and move on.”

“Job well done,” Eve mutters. “Thirty-seven years of disagreement solved. A monumental success.”

“Make fun if you like,” Kenny says. “But so long as you’re speaking again, even with vitriol, I _do_ consider it a success.”

The foot traffic thickens noticeably as they pull up to the race route right around the Mile 23 marker. Temporary fences bar off the main road of Commonwealth Avenue, and crowds of people line either side, pressed up against the barrier, cheering every time a runner passes. The four of them walk west, opposite the direction of the race. It’s a bit past eleven, so the wheelchairs and handcycles have mostly passed, and they’re now seeing the later half of the elite women run by, a few at a time.

“What’s with this little street next to the big street?” Villanelle asks.

“For horses and carriages in old times,” Eve explains. “But it’s more used by pedestrians and bikers these days.”

On Marathon Monday, the carriage lane sees more use than ever, as the main route for spectators. Indeed, the crowds fill not only the sidewalks, but also the wide median strip and the paved carriage lane which runs parallel to the main road for a long stretch of the twenty-six-point-two mile route.

Now that they’re safely away from the parents, Eve reaches for Villanelle’s hand. They walk as pairs, Eve and Villanelle, Kenny and Elena, and the ignorance no longer takes such willpower. It would take more willpower to resist the glee that pervades the very atmosphere this morning. Out here, everyone is happy. The sun is shining, the crowd is cheering, the top women in their special bibs with their surnames are running their hardest in the final stretch of the race.

As they near the reservoir coming up on the other side of the course, Eve notes the Mile 22 marker. A crop of women sprints by, but a wave of louder cheers comes up the road, with a rumbling. The rumbling comes from a row of police motorcycles, which are followed by a truck with a huge digital clock on top, counting the current time since the start of the next wave.

“Here we go,” Kenny says to Elena. “The first men must be coming up.”

Sure enough, only a minute later a lone, lean man sprints down the track to a huge roar of whoops and cowbells from the crowd. Then, he’s passed, and the road is empty again.

“Not very engaging as sporting events go, is it?” Villanelle comments.

“Shut up,” Eve mutters. “You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”

As they continue walking, Eve invites Villanelle into one of her favorite aspects of the Boston Marathon: spectating the spectators. The largest sporting event ever held in Massachusetts, the race draws over thirty thousand participants each year and an untold amount of viewers across the length of the course. Truly, more of a community event than a competition.

They decide to pause around the Boston College campus. In this area, especially, the crowds are boisterous, composed mainly of college students. Dozens of tents are set up along the median strip, many with huge speakers blasting overlapping pop anthems. Some tents belong to families, but some are commercial, set up to advertise brands to the passing crowds with the oldest trick in the book: free stuff.

For all that she loves to spend money, Villanelle perks up like a puppy at the promise of free goodies. She dashes over to the Toyota tent and comes back bearing a black baseball cap with the Toyota logo before Eve can even catch up with her, which charmingly complements her light blue tank top and denim cutoffs. Elena finds this incredibly amusing and goes to get one for herself.

Eve holds off, but Villanelle drags her into the next booth, Nike has set up a table with t-shirts bearing their logo, and a motivational slogan: “____ gives 100%”. There are fabric markers on the table, and one is meant to write a name in the blank and wear it to display effort, or pride, or something, Eve supposes.

Villanelle grabs a size small from the pile and throws it at Eve. “Put it on.”

“Really?”

“I want to put your name on it.”

So Eve pulls the cotton shirt on, over the sleeveless ivory blouse she has on. “Be careful the marker doesn’t bleed through,” she cautions, while Villanelle leans against her back to write.

It takes more time than Eve would expect it should to write a mere three letters, before Villanelle caps the marker with a mischievous giggle.

Eve stands back, and hears Elena starts laughing.

“What is it?” Eve says.

Then Kenny gasps. “Just because I’ve grown accustomed to what you two are doing doesn’t mean I need that level of detail, honestly,” he groans.

Eve whirls around. “What? What does it say?”

Elena is in hysterics, and takes several seconds to recover enough to read off, “‘Eve gives head 100% of the time.’”

“What?!” Eve bellows. 

Villanelle can hardly breathe, she’s laughing so hard.

Eve smacks her on the arm, and thrusts the marker at her again. “Change it!”

“But it’s true!” Villanelle manages.

Eve turns to Kenny, desperate. “Please, change it.”

“Gladly.” He swipes the marker, and Eve turns while Kenny crosses out the offending words. 

Eve turns around, but Elena waggles her finger, indicating for her to stop. Nervously, she displays her back again, and Elena tuts approvingly. “You can tell it said _something_ ,” she says. “But you can’t make it out.”

Eve glares at Villanelle once more, but she has no fight left in her. (Plus, in all honesty, that would’ve been pretty hilarious if they weren’t in public, surrounded by children).

They stop to rest on a free patch of grass in between the various tents, and areas that families have staked out for their own. Elena pulls out a blanket (a wise foresight, on her part) and spreads it out. They sit for a while as the pack of runners going past gradually changes from a trickle to a steady stream.

Soon, the other waves of runners begin to appear amongst the elites – amateurs who qualified by making a cutoff time, and those who raise money for charity in order to earn their number bib. These are a much more varied bunch, in age, type, and clothing. Many wear standard athletic clothes, some equipped with little belts that hold their phones for music, or tiny water bottles. A few runners, though, are dressed in costumes, as princesses or superheroes – these tend to earn larger whoops from the crowd as they run by. Before long, the road is so full of people that it’s hardly distinguishable from the crowded sidelines.

Then, a large wave of noise rolls down the track, comparable to the cheers that signaled the approach of the male leader. Amongst the blaring noise and overlapping shouts, Eve just barely makes out some voices screaming, “Go Tedy!” She stands up and runs closer to the barrier to see if she can confirm it herself. Villanelle is soon by her side.

Eve peers between the heads of two taller people in front of her and just makes out the tall, broad man who smiles and waves at the crowd like they’re all his friends and family.

“Who is that?” Villanelle says, shouting to be heard by Eve though she’s only a few inches away.

“It’s Tedy!” Eve replies, delighted.

Villanelle tilts her head, confused. “Roosevelt?!”

“No, Bruschi!” By now, the man in question has passed, and the noise has mellowed back to the Marathon baseline. “He used to play for the Patriots. Hall of Famer.”

Villanelle shrugs like she doesn’t get the big deal, but stretches out her arms. “I’m bored. Let’s keep moving.”

Eve is ready to stretch her legs again, too. They return to check in with Elena and Kenny, but they’re content to sit on the blanket and enjoy the sun. So Eve takes Villanelle’s hand once more and leads her farther west, across the train tracks for the Green Line, through Boston College territory.

Eve stops briefly to point up at a run-down house with blasting music, and college students spilling out onto the balcony, and all over the lawn. “See that?” She says to Villanelle. “I snuck into a house party there once, in high school. Don’t tell Carolyn.”

Villanelle takes in the new surroundings discerningly, paying special attention to the myriad signs hung on houses and fences and streetlights, which bear one slogan.

“‘Boston Strong’, everywhere, ‘Boston Strong’,” Villanelle snorts. “That is not even proper grammar. Why not, ‘Boston _is_ strong’?”

“You know what it’s all for, right?” Eve says. Villanelle gives a quizzical look, so Eve explains, “It’s because of the bombing. Back in 2013. At the finish line. Terrorists placed two homemade bombs and killed three people, injured hundreds.”

“Oh,” Villanelle says, her voice dropping low. “I think I heard about that.”

“I was living in Canada, at the time, but it broke my heart seeing the news,” Eve says. “This is the first time I’ve been back for the marathon since then.”

“You know a lot about it,” Villanelle comments.

“Yeah,” Eve says. “I thought, for a little…”

“What?”

“I used to dream that I might run it someday.”

Eve braces herself for the merciless mocking to come, but it doesn’t. Villanelle looks at her solemnly and says, “You should.”

“What?”

“Some of these people are way older and less fit than you. You should do it.”

The unabashed support is so odd it makes Eve a little queasy. 

Luckily, it isn’t long before Villanelle is distracted, as she spots a white truck parked a few hundred feet down the carriage lane, squeals, and runs towards it. Eve rolls her eyes and keeps walking at her regular pace, until she meets Villanelle once more at the window of the ice cream truck.

Villanelle whirls around, presenting a full pout. “Eve,” she whines, with an extra drawn out “eeee”.

“What?”

“Get me an ice cream?”

“Get one yourself.”

“I left my wallet with Kenny and Elena,” Villanelle says.

Eve folds her arms. “It’s barely noon. You don’t need ice cream.”

“Remember how you sent the police after me?” Villanelle whines.

“We’re even for that,” Eve says.

“Remember how you called me a vibrator to your friends?”

“That was hilarious, and you know it.”

“Remember how my mother is dead?” Villanelle pleads in a pitiful tone. Her eyes begin to water, like she’s about to cry on cue – wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake.

“Ugh. Fine,” Eve relents, pulling out a bill from her pocket. “But you can only use that excuse like, once a month.”

Eve steps up to the window. “Hi,” she greets the man inside. “Can I have a Choco Taco, and…”

She looks over to Villanelle, who is busy examining the pictures of the offerings posted on the side of the truck. She frowns, deep in thought, then points to one.

“Are you sure?” Eve asks. “Those things look fun but they’re actually gross. You’ll take one bite and throw it out.”

Villanelle nods her head solemnly. Eve sighs and turns back to the ice cream man. “And one of those Powerpuff Girl popsicles.”

A minute later, they continue trekking up Heartbreak Hill, while Eve munches her Choco Taco and Villanelle begins licking at a horrifying frozen representation of Bubbles from the Powerpuff girls with gumballs for eyes.

Eve makes quick work of her snack, and turns to stare at Villanelle as they keep heading up the hill. Her capped head bent low over the horrifying alienlike popsicle, lapping at it like a kitten. She looks like a big kid.

Villanelle freezes, and turns behind her. It takes a minute before Eve pinpoints the sound that turned her head out of all the noise of the crowd.

“Vivi! Vivi!”

A woman in a wide brimmed white sunhat and an elegant caftan comes gliding over in her designer sandals, arms outstretched. Villanelle hastily dumps her popsicle into the nearest garbage can, then runs to meet the woman. They kiss each other on the cheeks in greeting.

“ _Ma chérie!_ ” Villanelle exclaims with delight. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

The woman grins. Her teeth are blindingly white. She looks about Eve’s age, perhaps a few years older, though her glowing skin and cropped chestnut hair make her seem younger.

“It was so last minute, darling. Our friend Worknesh Degefa – you know, she won last year – she phoned yesterday to say she felt she might set a new world record today, so we simply had to come watch. And just a few minutes ago, she’s done it!”

“How lucky for you,” Villanelle says. “Though I am the luckiest one.”

The woman giggles again, clutching Villanelle’s arm affectionately. Then, finally, she notices Eve’s presence and looks her up and down. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Villanelle extends an arm. “Eve, this is my friend Anne-Laure. Annie, this is Eve.”

“So this is who’s keeping you warm these days!” Anne-Laure says with a high pitched giggle like a piccolo. 

A moment later, a beet-faced man with a thick plume of black hair jogs over to join them. “Villanelle! What a surprise!” Eve supposes this must be Anne-Laure’s husband, Pierre.

Villanelle greets him and begins chatting in French, too rapidly for Eve to parse it with the few bits of French she knows. Eve clears her throat, and Villanelle shoots a glance at her, then switches back to English.

“Pierre, who are you trusting with your portfolio these days?”

“Belanger, but he’s not half as good as you,” Pierre says with a wink. “I don’t suppose you’ll come back to Paris sometime soon? We would love to have you back.”

“Maybe for a week,” Villanelle says. “Or a night.” 

All three burst into delighted laughter at that. Eve wishes she still had her Choco Taco so she had something to bite into.

“But really,” Anne-Laure says, rubbing Villanelle’s shoulder. “When are you coming back, Vivi?”

“I don’t know,” Villanelle says. “My father’s making a home here.”

“And you?”

Eve watches Villanelle carefully. Her face remains in a sweet, polite mask, as she says, “I live in the moment.”

“We’d better get going,” Anne-Laure says. “Want to catch up with Worknesh at the finish line once she’s finished with the press.”

Villanelle bids the couple “ _Au revoir_ ,” and submits as Eve grabs her by the hand and begins dragging her west, against the flow of the race.

“Is there a reason we’re going so fast?”

“So you can see more of the route, _Vivi_ ,” Eve replies.

“Let’s take it easy, partner,” Villanelle says, sliding her hand out from Eve’s. “I don’t want to get sweaty. It’s kind of steep.”

“Well, duh,” Eve says. “This is Heartbreak Hill.”

Villanelle stops short. “You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not,” Eve says. “You know. Heartbreak. Because you’ve already run twenty miles, you’re exhausted, and then you have to climb this big honking hill before you’re done. Breaks your heart.” She punctuates this by poking Villanelle in the chest just over her heart, a little rougher than necessary.

They pass a water station, where volunteers fill Gatorade-sponsored cups of water and pass them to the runners as they go by. The cups are then discarded all over the street, leading to mountains of crushed green wax paper all around the tables.

“Such beautiful sights here,” Villanelle comments derisively.

“I’m sure they do it better in Paris,” Eve grumbles.

“Are you upset about something?” Villanelle asks.

“No,” Eve says, a bit too quickly.

“That was rhetorical. I know you are upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Eve insists, as her voice climbs two octaves. “Who am I to get between you and your friends?”

Villanelle chuckles and nods. “Oh, you’re just jealous. That’s a relief.”

“I’m not – wait, why is that a relief?”

“Never mind. Look, let’s get some shaved ice!” She points at a small cart on the corner serving Italian Ice.

“You just had a popsicle, and don’t think I don’t notice you deflecting,” Eve says.

“Whoa, where can I get some of _that_?” Villanelle points at a pair of young boys who are spraying each other with Silly String, though more of it gets on the sidewalk than on each other.

“Is this about what happened on the rocks?” Eve demands. Though they’d happily retired to the cabin that night, they never returned to the difficult conversation that began on the rocky outcrop by the sea.

Villanelle stops, still facing towards the Silly String fight, but her shoulders slump. She turns slowly. “It’s better if we forget it.”

“We can’t forget it,” Eve says. “It happened, but… we can move on from it.”

“How is that different?”

“It’s…”

Eve stops dead in her tracks. They’ve reached the top of Heartbreak Hill. She spots a blue-and-yellow banner up ahead, marking Mile 20.

“We’ve been walking for over three miles,” she says.

“Marathons are long,” Villanelle comments drily.

“This whole time just walking and talking. I didn’t notice,” Eve says.

They’re out of Boston now, officially in the suburbs. The houses are bigger and nicer, and the crowd of spectators has a higher ratio of families to college students than it did a mile back. They slow down, end up stopped in front of one of the houses – a two story colonial, with peeling red paint and a huge porch.

“This is what you want?” Villanelle says.

“What do you mean?”

Villanelle gestures vaguely around them. “A marathon?”

Eve has to stop and think for a minute. “Not any marathon. Just this one.” She looks back out at the race, all the different people there to run, to support, to be together as one. “You know, you can run or walk twenty six miles anywhere, on any day, but it’s not the same.”

Villanelle follows Eve’s gaze out to the street, staring intently, like she’s trying to see what Eve sees.

“I don’t want to walk twenty-six miles,” Eve says. “My feet hurt now that we’ve walked three. But I don’t care, because I walked them with you.” Eve floats out of her own body, and for a moment, she’s a spectator to her own life as she says, “I love you.”

Like a bungee cord reaching the end of its elasticity, Eve rockets back into her body as she hears Villanelle’s response. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Eve stammers, as she crashes back down to Earth. “I love you, because… I love you.”

“Okay, I guess?” Villanelle says.

A heat builds inside Eve, like magma bubbling up. It starts deep in her stomach. She tries to keep it down. “You don’t have anything you wanna say to that?”

Villanelle scrunches her face uncomfortably and shrugs.

“Right,” Eve says. The magma is rising. “Right, this checks out. It turns out I am crazy after all. Only one thing left to do, I guess.”

She marches towards the barrier to the street. She hears Villanelle behind her, “What are you doing?” But the volcano is erupting, and Eve couldn’t stop if she wanted to.

“Something insane!” Eve shouts. She manages to climb over the barrier, muttering a quick “sorry” to the BC student she almost kicks in the face in the process. She dodges and weaves between runners until she’s in the middle of the road, and plants herself. The stream of runners naturally diverts around her.

“Come back,” Villanelle says, hardly raising her voice, so Eve can barely hear her over the noice of the crowd. She leans against the barrier, extremely unaffected by Eve’s antics.

“I’m a crazy idiot,” Eve says. “I do insane and impulsive things like fall in love with you. And apparently, I’m alone in this, so I might as well go full-force.”

“You’re going to get in trouble,” Villanelle says.

“Good!” Eve screams. “It’s about time. Bring on the consequences!”

Then, a runner jostles Eve, hitting her in the shoulder as he goes past. “Really, pal?” she calls after him. “I’m having a moment. You can see that!”

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” Villanelle says, almost to herself. Eve stares at her, expectantly. 

Villanelle bites her lip for a moment, conflicted, then in one smooth motion, vaults the fence and plows fearlessly through the field of runners towards Eve.

Her arms surround Eve like an iron grip, crushing Eve close to her. Her mouth, right next to Eve’s ear. “Of course I love you, dumbass. I loved you since the first moment I saw you. I tried to stop, but it was impossible. I loved you the whole time.”

The entire world disappears, like some cosmic being took a giant vacuum and sucked it all away. It’s only Eve and Villanelle, suspended in space, in nothingness. Villanelle is the sole sensory input, the sole fixture of Eve’s universe. Eve swears she can hear the blood rushing in Villanelle’s veins, they’re so close together, with Eve’s ear pressed to Villanelle’s neck. It roars.

In a snap, her real surroundings reappear. The roar of blood is really the roar of the crowd. Eve blinks at the sunlight that now seems very bright and looks around. The crowd isn’t only cheering for the runners – they’re watching the pair of women hugging in the middle of the track, pointing and clapping with approval.

But the supportive audience aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed. About a hundred feet down the road, back at the water station, a uniformed officer looks up, nudges his partner, and both of them begin marching determinedly right towards Eve and Villanelle.

“Oh shit,” Eve hisses. “Staties!”

“Hey!” One of the Massachusetts State Police officers calls out. “You don’t have a bib, you can’t be out here!”

Eve flinches, ready to run away, but Villanelle’s grip is still strong around her, and she remains planted. She doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, as she wrinkles her nose, and proclaims, in an American accent, “You don’t have a bib, either.”

Eve desperately wants to ask where that accent came from, but there’s no time. The officers draw closer, and the crowd of runners instinctively part around the entire altercation, leaving a gap like the parting of the Red Sea. 

“Ma’am, you need to get off the track, or we will have to make you,” the other officer says.

Eve leans in close. “Vill, we have to–“ 

But she remains still, and whispers, “Follow my lead.”

Then she kisses Eve. Full force. Dead on. The crowd explodes with cheers.

As they separate, Eve stares, confused, then notes that the staties have stopped in their tracks, equally stunned.

Villanelle whips her head back to them and commands, in her shockingly good American accent, “Are y’all telling me I can’t kiss my girlfriend?”

“That’s not…” one of the officers begins.

“Yeah,” Eve says, hesitant to start out, but catching onto the game. “Do you have some sort of problem with what we’re doing?”

The other officer, slack jawed, recovers enough to raise his baton and say, “You still need to move.”

“Discrimination!” Villanelle shrieks, and is that a bit of a Texas twang in her voice? “I heard y’all were accepting up here in Massachusetts but I guess I heard wrong. I guess police are hateful everywhere you go!”

As the officers hesitate once more, Eve can think of nothing else to contribute but to kiss Villanelle again. She leans into it, while Villanelle shoves her tongue in Eve’s mouth, which normally she might object to in public, but, there are a lot of things Eve might object to in the current situation were she thinking clearly, so she goes with it. Runners continue to pass by them as they stand with locked lips, but the cheers rise. Even louder than the cheers for Tedy. 

After a good thirty seconds or so, the officers evidently decide that the risk of letting two non-runners remain on the track is worse than the risk of appearing homophobic, and they charge towards Villanelle and Eve once again. Villanelle releases her grip and runs with Eve over to the barrier, where she leaps over like an Olympic hurdler, then helps Eve over.

Eve falls onto Villanelle, pinning her to the grass of the median strip and they roll in a heap, laughing.

“What was that accent about?” Eve asks.

Villanelle rolls over, right side up, and answers in her regular voice. “Americans get so hung up on appearances, accents. Always making judgments. I thought that one would go over better in the moment.”

“It was a brilliant performance.”

“Thank you.” Villanelle gives a tiny bow as much as she can while they’re lying on the grass.

Eve stares into Villanelle’s eyes. They’re loving, open, hopeful. She doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but she has to ask. “Why wouldn’t you say it before?” 

The cheering seems to exist only above them, and they are in their own separate universe here on the ground. A private moment, next to dozens of pairs of feet. 

Villanelle pulls herself up, onto her hands and knees, and crawls closer to Eve. “Because the last time I loved, it was all wrong. I didn’t want to love you wrong. I don’t want our story to be one I can’t talk about. I don’t want my dad to be worrying over it. I don’t want _you_ to be worried.”

“I’m not,” Eve says. 

“Maybe you should be,” she breathes, and presses her forehead to Eve’s. “Because I love you, Eve. Really hard. And I don’t think it’s going to go away.”

“Good.”

Eve has no choice anymore, but it's okay.

She loves Villanelle, and Villanelle loves her.

Nothing else matters.

* * *

The next morning, Eve wakes up, stretches her arms, and panics.

She shouldn’t be able to stretch her arms like this. There should be another body in her way. In other relationships, this might not be a cause for concern, but in all the nights they’ve shared a bed, Villanelle has never once gotten out of bed before Eve.

Eve tries to remain calm, resolving to at least check the bathroom before she gets on the phone screaming, but as she sits up, she notices a small piece of paper propped on Villanelle’s pillow.

She picks up the handwritten note and reads:

_Sorry Baby. Had to take care of something this morning. Back soon. V_

A little unusual, but far from the weirdest thing Villanelle has done since they’ve been together, so Eve drags herself out of bed, grateful that she decided to take the extra day off of work.

After getting some breakfast inside her, she sees a text from Kenny, inviting her to come meet him for his mid-morning break between classes, so she hops in the car. As she walks across the MIT campus, she calls Villanelle.

“Hey,” Eve says, instantly relieved as soon as Villanelle picks up. “Just so you know, I’m meeting Kenny right now. In case you got back and were wondering where I am.” She didn’t intend it to come out passive aggressive, but she doesn’t hate that it did.

“Great,” Villanelle says. “I’m nearly back.”

“Where were you?”

“I’ll meet you at MIT,” Villanelle says.

Then she hangs up.

Eve is spared from too much introspection on that odd conversation because she spots Kenny sitting at their favorite café table, and runs to meet him.

She begins filling him in on what happened after they parted ways at the Marathon. Just as she reaches the climax of the story, she hears a voice from behind her, cutting in. “And then, I kissed her.”

Villanelle approaches and pulls up a third chair at the table. “We are completely adorable, aren’t we, Kenny?”

“Right,” Kenny says. “That, um, that makes a lot of sense, now.”

“What makes sense?” Eve says.

“You haven’t seen?” Kenny’s face goes white, and he pulls out his phone.

“Kenny, what is it?” Eve says.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, okay?” Kenny places his phone down on the table. “This is on the front page of Reddit right now.”

His phone screen displays a photo of Eve and Villanelle kissing in the middle of the street as runners dodge around them. There’s a clear view of the back of Villanelle’s head, her blonde ponytail sticking out of her Toyota cap, throwing a middle finger backwards towards the cops who must be somewhere behind the camera. The caption reads, “At the Boston Marathon: LOVE WINS”.

Eve laughs. Kenny glances up at her, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t notice you flipped them off,” Eve says to Villanelle. “Nice touch.”

“Thanks,” Villanelle says with a smirk.

“Sorry, but I expected you to be a little more concerned,” Kenny says.

Eve looks down at the photo again. The angle is incredibly fortuitous, not giving a clear view of either of their faces, nor of the back of Eve’s shirt which had her name written on it. It’s enough to recognize them if you know them both well and know they were at the marathon, but not obvious enough for a stranger to identify.

“As long as it doesn’t make it to local news, we’re probably fine,” Eve says. She is strangely calm, she notes, and questions her own calm for a moment before rationalizing it as such: if Konstantin and Carolyn haven’t caught them by now, they probably never will. “Carolyn and Konstantin don’t read Reddit or Buzzfeed or any frothy shit like that.”

Kenny furrows his brow and raises a finger to cut in. “But you know who probably does?”

Just then, Villanelle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with a picture of Irina making a silly face.

Villanelle looks down, curses in Russian, then hisses, “This is worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter means a lot to me, because the Boston Marathon means a lot to me. Not only as a powerful local tradition I’ve been lucky enough to attend almost every year of my life, but my family also has a close connection to the race. One of the victims killed in the 2013 bombing was my cousin. He was only eight years old. Since then his family has created a charity foundation in his honor, and my sister was going to run for that foundation this year, but now the marathon was cancelled for the first time in its 124 year history. When I first planned this chapter, I hoped to post it ON Marathon day. Needless to say there are larger problems in the world, but it still weighs on me to think about all the communal joy that has been lost, in losing the 2020 Boston Marathon.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> One more important note: this story takes place in a light and frothy romcom universe where everything always works out and danger is merely a plot point, but in the real world it’s time to defund the police.


	19. As Long As You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the wedding draws closer, Eve and Villanelle must balance their secret-keeping with the fact that life will go on once their arrangement ends.

_“Say there’s no future for us as a pair,_  
_And though I may know, I don’t care.”_  
—Stephen Schwartz

* * *

  
Villanelle paces back and forth across the quad while Kenny and Eve watch from their outdoor café table. Passersby turn their heads, but Villanelle shows no sign of shame as she screams into her phone in Russian. It seems her conversation with Irina is not going well.

Eve turns to Kenny. “I don’t know if I properly thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For rolling with it so well when you found out about us.”

“I didn’t think I _did_ handle it particularly well, until now.” Kenny pauses, and furrows his brow, listening intently to the one audible side of the argument. “Is she speaking Russian, or French?”

“I think both,” Eve says. 

They watch and listen as Villanelle’s arguing with Irina over the phone switches phonetics and cadence every so often between French and Russian, and eventually, to yet another language.

“Is that… Mandarin?” Kenny says.

Eve shrugs. 

Finally, Villanelle screams a last word and hangs up. Then, she strides back over to the table, beaming like the sun. “Why do you two look so glum?”

“Uh, what did Irina say? What was all that yelling about?” Eve asks.

“Don’t worry,” Villanelle says with a smile. “She will not say anything. But it’s going to cost.”

“That’s not so bad then. You’ve got money,” Eve says. “How much does she want?”

“It would be easier if she was interested in cash,” Villanelle says. “But she has plenty of money, in her ways. She wants… other things. I have to go meet her to negotiate the terms.”

“You’re joking.”

“People think I am the scary one,” Villanelle says. “They don’t know Irina.”

Eve bids Villanelle goodbye, dumbfounded, but supposes it’s best for her to stay out of the way and let Villanelle handle the situation. After all, she wanted space when it was her turn to deal with Kenny.

“Have I mentioned today how lucky I am to have you as a brother?” Eve says.

“You can always stand to mention it more.” Kenny grins sheepishly. “Now that that excitement is over, while you’re here, want to plan Mum’s bachelorette party?”

“Only if you promise not to call it that,” Eve mutters. Then her phone chimes – a calendar alert. “Shit, I forgot I’m seeing a house this afternoon. I need to get out to Needham to meet Hugo. Let’s talk later this week.”

Eve gives Kenny and extra-long hug goodbye then hops in her car and drives out to the quiet suburb of Needham, where she pulls up in front of a charming, white ranch-style house with a neatly manicured lawn. Hugo is already standing outside the door, and he waves as Eve gets out of her car.

He shows her around the house, pointing out the features – hardwood floor here, half bath there. “Not terribly large, but it’s well situated, and the schools are good, you know, if you and the girlfriend plan to go down that route.”

Eve freezes in the midst of examining the moulding in the living room. 

“Sorry,” Hugo adds. “That was terribly unprofessional, but I feel like I’m entitled to one or two of those, after you brought your girlfriend along on our date.”

“I suppose you are,” Eve says. “Though I didn’t ‘bring her’–”

“Let me show you the kitchen.”

Overall, the house is nice, and well within Eve’s price range. Is it purchase-worthy? Eve considers the pros and cons. 

Con: long commute. It’d be near-impossible for Eve to find a house that would beat her current commute from Villanelle’s apartment in the heart of Boston, but still, getting in and out from the suburbs during rush hour is a true exercise in patience. Although, plenty of people commute into Boston from further out, so perhaps Eve shouldn’t be picky on this front.

Pro: safe neighborhood, good schools. Not that Eve necessarily envisions herself having kids, but it’s nice to know that the neighbor’s kids would all be well educated as they sell lemonade on the block or whatever.

Con: not a ton of space. Three bedrooms in the ranch layout, with only a small living room and kitchen; as Hugo so helpfully points out, it’d be feasible to raise one, maybe two kids, but it might begin to feel tight.

Pro: not a ton of space. Because while Hugo narrates the possibility of Eve’s family outgrowing this three-bedroom ranch in the suburbs, she can’t even picture the scenario he describes in her mind’s eye. 

Eve’s not likely to outgrow this house – on the contrary, as she walks through the bedrooms, it all feels rather large and empty and lonely. 

There won’t be kids bouncing off the walls begging for more space; in fact, there might not be anyone for Eve to share the master bedroom with.

She imagines herself cooking for one in the kitchen. Streaming old episodes of _Bones_ on a reasonably sized TV in the living room. Paying landscapers to mow the lawn and keep the backyard looking nice, though she’ll never use it.

This house is too big and Eve is too small. Eve realizes Hugo is looking at her expectantly; he must have asked a question, but she didn’t hear whatever it was. She forces herself to take a deep breath, and steady her voice. “This is very nice, but I’m not sure it’s what I’m looking for.”

“Fair enough,” Hugo says, then leans in and whispers, “For the best, really, because, I’m not supposed to tell you this before an official inspection, but the septic’s a mess.”

Eve thanks Hugo, and makes plans with him to see a couple more houses in Needham and Newton, but only feels relieved once she’s back in her car. 

She pulls out her phone, and sees she has a voicemail from Villanelle, left while she had her phone silenced during the tour. She listens to it as she turns her key in the car’s ignition.

“Unfortunately, negotiations are not going well with this pint-sized Phantom of the Opera,” Villanelle sighs, annoyance evident in her tone. “She is holding me hostage to drive her and her friends around wherever they want to go, and buy them alcohol. I will be home late tonight.”

Eve says another silent _thank you_ to Kenny, wherever he is, and begins the drive back into Boston. 

* * *

Eve leaves for work on Wednesday before Villanelle is awake, as is typical; Villanelle likes to sleep in, even when she isn’t kept out late chauffeuring teens, since she makes her own work schedule.

It’s Eve’s first day back at work after her four-day weekend, and it isn’t a merry homecoming. While she was off in Rockport, and watching the Marathon, and seeing houses, emails piled up to form a veritable virtual mountain in her inbox, which she now chips away at dutifully in between her regularly-scheduled meetings. 

Though she hardly has a minute to herself in between meetings, she still checks her phone compulsively at every chance, to see if Villanelle has woken up and left her another message with an update on the Irina situation. No news is good news, Eve _hopes_ , but it still makes her nervous not to hear from Villanelle. If Villanelle is willing to go to such lengths to appease Irina, driving out to her school just to talk about it, then there must be a very real threat of Irina exposing them.

When she checks her phone for the five thousandth time that morning, right at the start of her lunch break, her heart skips a beat when she’s greeted with a few texts on the screen.

_You get lunch at 12:30, right?_

_Come outside and wait in front of your building._

Eve can hardly contain herself on the elevator ride down to the lobby. 

She doesn’t see Villanelle anywhere, but only has to wait about twenty seconds before she spots a familiar black Lexus pulling up, with Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation” blasting over the car stereo. The car stops and the music shuts off, mercifully, and then Villanelle gets out – from the passenger seat.

“Hi?” Eve’s greeting comes out in questioning inflection as she takes in the sight.

“She wanted to drive, today,” Villanelle growls.

Then, the window rolls down, and Irina, in the driver’s seat, yells out at them. “Make it quick,” she commands. “I don’t want to be late!”

“You can miss the previews,” Villanelle snaps back.

“I don’t want to miss the previews. I like the previews.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

Villanelle bends down to hiss through the window. “Shut up or I will _kill_ you.”

“I’m going to kill you in the face!” Irina shouts back.

“I’m going to kill _you_ in the face!”

Eve has never been more grateful not to have a sister.

“Seeing a movie in the middle of the day?” Eve asks.

“My mother called the office to get me excused from classes today,” Irina says, with a shit-eating grin. Eve glances over to Villanelle, whose weary look indicates she’s the “mother” in question.

“Does she even have a license?” Eve asks.

Villanelle raises an eyebrow. “Why, are you planning to call the cops again?”

“No, just worried for your safety.”

“It will be fine,” Villanelle says, though the twitch in her cheeks makes it clear she isn’t comfortable with the situation. “Whatever keeps her from spilling the beans.”

Eve bites her cheek. She’s grateful for Villanelle to go to these lengths to protect the secret, of course, but she can’t help but feel guilty.

“Come on!” Irina yells out the window.

“Guess you need to go,” Eve says. “Why even make the detour out here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Villanelle says. “Even if it’s only for a minute. So I can do this.”

She leans down and pulls Eve’s face to hers for a long, slow kiss. Eve melts into it. The street around them disappears, until Irina leans on the car horn, killing the moment.

Eve returns to the drudgery of work, but the feeling of Villanelle’s kiss lingers on her lips all afternoon.

After clocking out that evening, she drives out to the family house for the first time since her famous storm-out weeks ago. Finally, after two months, she got her act together to get some of her things shipped from Los Angeles, seeing as how she was living at home when she made the order, that’s where the packages arrived.

After a cursory, clipped greeting to Carolyn, she hauls the boxes into her car, just barely managing to cram the load into her sedan. It’s not all of her things; the furniture and larger items will have to be shipped later, once Eve has a house to put them in, or else sold. Mostly, it’s the clothes Eve didn’t pack in her suitcase on her initial trip, and it will be quite nice to have her old wardrobe back at her fingertips. 

She brings a couple boxes up the stairs to Villanelle’s apartment, but after two trips up to the third floor, she’s sweaty and resolves to leave the rest for another day. Villanelle is still out chaperoning Irina on whatever a seventeen-year-old wants to do on a Wednesday night, so Eve has the apartment to herself again. 

It’s kind of nice, actually. Not that she doesn’t like Villanelle, but they’ve spent so much quality time together lately – the whole weekend in Rockport, plus all of Marathon Day, not to mention living together – that it’s a little nice to have her own space. 

Eve takes a long shower, then flops out on the couch, not bothering to dress again. She turns on the TV, flicks through channels until she finds a rerun of the 2018 AFC Championship game, and leaves it on while she makes a half-assed attempt at unpacking the two boxes of clothes.

It’s a nice reminder of why Eve does enjoy living alone. Perhaps she can imagine herself having a night like this in that ranch house in Needham, after all.

* * *

On Thursday morning, Eve wakes to find a very soundly asleep Villanelle sprawled next to her, still dressed in the clothes Eve last saw her in. Irina must’ve kept her out until the wee hours of the morning, if Villanelle was too exhausted to even change into pajamas.

Eve’s up earlier than usual, and has some extra time before she has to run to work, so she goes around the corner to Dunkin’ Donuts, gets herself an iced coffee, as well as a caramel swirl and a half-dozen donuts, then returns to the apartment and leaves the offerings for Villanelle.

As she drives to work, she calls Villanelle. It goes to voicemail, of course; Eve expects she will continue to sleep for another hour or so, but she couldn’t contain her desire to speak to her before she gets ensnared in work, even if it’s in the delayed form of a voicemail.

“Hope you like the breakfast I left for you,” she says. “I can’t wait to hear about whatever it was Irina demanded that kept you out all night. But the upside is, with you gone, and having the living room to myself, I got to stretch out and watch old football games. Naked.”

Once she enters the office, though, all warmth is sucked out of her, not only by the air conditioning on full blast, but also by the other VPs bitching her out in a meeting for a missed deadline, which _isn’t_ Eve’s fault, but she hasn’t been here long enough yet to cuss out her coworkers, so she nods and apologizes and saves the screaming for the pillow in her office that she keeps for exactly that purpose.

But fate is cruel and Eve never gets a moment to herself to scream into her angry pillow, for it’s one thing then another all day. Her supervisors condescend to her, her underlings need her assistance on every small task, and she even gets stopped on her way to the bathroom to sign off on an expense report, forcing her to cross her legs all the way through the quarterly review because she has to pee so bad.

She doesn’t get a moment to think until the clock strikes five, and she abruptly drops the packet of research data she was reading and grabs her bag to flee the building. As she checks her phone for the first time all day, she’s excited to see a message from Villanelle. Scratch that – several messages.

She plays the first while she walks to the elevator.

“Why did you get Dunkin’ Donuts? It’s gross. You couldn’t have gone anywhere that doesn’t use styrofoam cups in the twenty-first century?” Eve chuckles at Villanelle’s ungrateful message, which she probably left while in the middle of eating one of the donuts. “Also, you know, you are welcome to sit around naked even when I am home. Just not the football part.” 

Eve’s face already freezes into a smile, as she plays the next voicemail. “I started putting your clothes away – thanks for leaving those all over the apartment, by the way – and I have to ask why you have a sweatshirt that says ‘Re-Lax Bro’ on it. Is it from an ex? Did he play lacrosse? It’s very soft, though.”

Next message. “I’m bored, and I told Irina she has to stay at school today; I can’t call her out two days in a row. Want to meet for lunch?”

Oops. Eve missed the boat on that one. She plays the next. “Okay, I guess you couldn’t meet for lunch, but whenever you get these, make an excuse to sneak out for a bit to meet me. I’ll wait for you in the Common.”

Last message. “Where are you? I’m by the ducklings. There’s a child sitting on top of one of them. I’ll wait, but don’t keep me waiting forever.” 

Eve checks the timestamp on the last message. Only a half-hour ago; Villanelle may still be there. As she exits her building and walks in the direction of Boston Common, the large park in the middle of the city, she calls Villanelle. Unsurprisingly, it goes to voicemail once again.

“First off, you’re welcome for the coffee, and don’t be such a snob. Everyone likes Dunkin’, even if they pretend they don’t,” Eve says. “Secondly, you better keep your hands off that hoodie; it’s my favorite. I had my clothes shipped first just for that hoodie, and you shouldn’t like it anyway, because it’s twenty years old and only cost $25 to start. And no, it’s not from an ex; sometime I will regale you with the story of my brief and unsuccessful stint on a lacrosse team in high school. I was never destined for greatness, but it helped with my rage.”

She dashes across the street just as the walk signal ticks down to zero. “I’m heading over to the Common now. You said you’re by the ducks? I’m assuming you mean the statues, not real ducks… Fun fact, that statue is based on a kids’ book. _Make Way for Ducklings_. Adorable.”

Speak of the ducklings, Eve slows from her jog to a walk as she spots the statue in question – a bronze mallard followed by half a dozen tiny metal ducklings marching single-file – along a tree-lined path through the Common. 

“I got to the ducklings, but I don’t see you?” Eve pants into the phone. She looks around, but there’s no sign of Villanelle. “Well, um, I guess I’ll hang up and try calling you back. Bye.”

As soon as she hangs up, she’s greeted with a notification. A new voicemail, left just two minutes ago, while Eve was on the phone. She presses play.

“Guess I missed you again. A client just called and wants to meet tonight. I can’t blow him off. I have to go. I will see you in the morning?”

Eve collapses on the bench across the path. She glares at the metal ducks as if this is somehow their fault.

Then, Eve’s phone rings, and her heart picks up, until she sees the screen. It’s Bill. After two more rings to couch her disappointment, she picks up.

“Hello?”

“Eve,” Bill greets her. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Eve lies.

“I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow night.”

That’s a good question; Eve has no plans but has fallen into the habit of waiting around to see if she might be able to get a scrap of time with Villanelle. “Probably… why?”

“I’d like you to come over for dinner. Keiko’s taught me how to make sushi. She’s the expert, though; I’ll make sure you get some of hers, while I suffer through my own sloppy attempts.”

“I’d love to,” Eve says. “If Villanelle can come too. I mean, um, if that’s not too much of an imposition.”

“It’s not,” Bill replies, though something in his tone sounds off. “Of course she’s welcome. I only didn’t make the invitation explicit, because I supposed she might be busy.”

“I’ll check with her and let you know, if that’s alright?”

“Wonderful,” Bill says. “We will be happy to have you, one or two.”

“Can’t wait.”

Eve walks home, less of a spring in her step. While she walks, she types out a text to Villanelle asking about dinner at Bill’s. She doesn’t have the energy for a voicemail.

Once again, she finds herself alone in the apartment. For all of Villanelle’s complaining about Eve leaving her clothes out, she didn’t make much progress in cleaning them up; it seems the hoodie is the one item she unpacked.

 _Buzz._ A reply from Villanelle. She has to drive Irina around tomorrow, so she can’t come to Bill’s. Big surprise, but at least Eve asked.

Eve turns the TV on again while she folds clothes. The end of _Clueless_ plays on some movie channel. Eve has seen it plenty of times, so she turns down the volume, and picks up her phone. It will be nice to have someone real to talk to while she works, so she calls Kenny and puts the phone on speaker.

“Hi Eve,” says a voice that is definitely not Kenny’s.

“Hi Elena,” Eve says. “I’m sorry, I was just calling to see if Kenny wanted to talk about the party for Carolyn. I didn’t realize he was with you, I should’ve thought–”

“It’s fine,” Elena says. “He’s been here every night this week; truthfully I’m getting a bit sick of him.”

“Okay, then. Is he able to talk?”

“Right now, he’s on the loo,” Elena says. “And I hear him singing S Club 7 to himself, so he may be a while. But I can have him call you back when he gets finished?”

“Never mind,” Eve says. “It’s fine. I’ll call another time.” No reason to infringe upon another happy couple’s alone time.

She hangs up and sits alone. The apartment seems very large and very quiet with only the low murmuring of Cher Horowitz in the background.

Eve better get used to it. This is her future. Forever. Only it won’t be here in Villanelle’s apartment, it will be in a ranch in Needham, or a colonial in Newton. She shouldn’t even bother to ask Hugo to tell her the number of bedrooms in each house she sees. She only needs to know, _is there a comfortable couch for me to sit on while I watch romantic movies and eat ice cream and cry?_

Shit. Ice cream would be good, except Eve’s not going to go outside, not in this state. She uses one of those expensive rip-off delivery apps to call for a pint of Phish Food to be delivered.

 _Clueless_ ends, and _The Notebook_ comes on. Eve knows she should turn it off. She knows it will only be bad for her state of mind, but she can’t help herself. She remains frozen, glued to the screen, until the buzzer rings signaling the arrival of her ice cream.

As she signs off on the eleven dollar charge (plus tip) for one pint of ice cream, she thinks, _Suck on that, Vill._ But Villanelle isn’t there for Eve to stick out her tongue at and brag about her splurging.

Eve puts on her lacrosse hoodie while she eats the entire pint. Even though the temperature hardly calls for layers, the hoodie is comforting. It makes her feel safe.

Turns out, she doesn’t need to worry about the ending of the movie making her depressed, because she doesn’t even see it. She takes a Benadryl, washes it down with wine, and conks out by nine forty-five.  


* * *

Friday is dull but goes by relatively fast. Eve goes from one meeting to the next; she gives orders and clears her email inbox. She confirms an invitation for lunch next week with the COO to reflect on her first month at LuciTech.

Her messages with Villanelle today are less excited, more clipped. They’re both too tired to pretend like they’ll make it to see each other that day. 

“Hey, sorry I missed you again in the morning,” Villanelle’s first voicemail says. “Maybe we can meet tonight. Get takeout or something. I really want dumplings. Call me.”

“Dumplings sound nice,” Eve begins her message. “But I have dinner with Bill. And you’re still in indentured servitude to Irina, right? Did you already forget?” As she says it, Eve hopes she’s wrong, and that Villanelle is indeed free, and forgot to mention it to her – but she hardly has the energy to get excited at that possibility. 

“You’re right,” Villanelle begins her message. “You’re right. I have to do it. I wish…” She trails off, and there’s a bit of static on the message. Maybe the wind. “I will see you when you get home, I suppose.”

Somehow, the hours tick by faster when Eve has already given up hope of seeing Villanelle that night. When there’s nothing to look forward to, time speeds up; it’s a fickle bitch like that. 

Though, when Eve finally leaves work and makes her way to Bill’s apartment, she instantly feels a burst of warmth from inside as Bill hugs her – and Keiko too, who is incredibly friendly considering this is Eve’s first time meeting her.

Keiko turns out to be a lovely woman, which isn’t entirely surprising based on what Bill has told Eve, but it’s still nice to confirm with her own eyes that Bill is marrying a real, kind, human. And, as Bill boasted on the phone, she makes fantastic sushi.

“Keiko,” Eve sighs, after popping the first piece of kappa maki into her mouth. “This is _art._ ”

“Thank you,” Keiko says. “Simply a hobby I’ve picked up over the years.”

“Well, if you ever get sick of being a federal investigator, you should know you could open a very successful restaurant.”

Everyone laughs at this. Bill reaches out and holds Keiko’s hand atop the table.

“If you don’t mind me asking, when’s the wedding?” Eve says. “I haven’t gotten an invite yet. Assuming you actually are going to invite me, and I didn’t just make things terribly awkward.”

“I didn’t tell you?” Bill says. “We got married two weeks ago.”

Eve almost chokes on a mouthful of rice. “What?” 

“It was brief, but lovely,” Keiko says. “No fuss.”

Bill leans in. “Did you know you only have to wait three days to get a marriage license in Massachusetts?”

“That’s fast,” Eve says, for lack of any more profound comment to offer.

Keiko looks over at Bill. “When you’ve made up your mind about a decision, weighed the pros and cons, and determined it’s what you want, it only makes sense to take care of it promptly.”

Utterly romantic, in their utilitarian way. Eve might not understand it, but she knows Bill and Keiko are lucky to have found each other.

The rest of dinner unfolds in a perfectly pleasant fashion. Keiko retires into the bedroom to research a report for work, while Eve helps Bill with the dishes.

“Eve, I must confess, I had an ulterior motive in asking you to dinner.” Bill hands Eve a plate he just finished rinsing for her to dry.

“Oh?”

“There’s a job.”

“A job,” Eve repeats.

“A job that’s perfect for you.”

“You’re talking to a lot of marketing people?”

“At my office.”

“The FBI.” Eve lets out a chortle then goes back to drying the plate. “Good one.”

“They’re looking to hire someone with a background in sales and marketing to investigate high-level cases of consumer fraud. For now, on a per-case basis, but could turn into a fully tenured position if you play your cards right.”

“You’re bullshitting me.”

Bill clutches his chest. “I’m hurt that you think that.”

“And this came out of nowhere?”

“It came from whatever company decided to commit horrible consumer fraud, forcing us to investigate thoroughly.”

“And you just happened to think of me?” Eve presses.

“You’re back in the area,” Bill says. “And I heard that you’re not so happy with your current job.”

“Who told you that?”

“See, the way you’re interrogating me? You’d be a perfect fit ‘round the Bureau,” Bill laughs.

“So this job that’s perfect for me appears right as I move back to Boston,” Eve says. “Seems too good to be true.”

“You know what’s odd?” Bill says, as he hands Eve another wet plate. “People never accuse events of being too _bad_ to be true.”

“Bill,” Eve elbows him in the side. “Seriously. What are the chances of this? One in a million?”

Bill pauses, thinking. “Maybe two.”

Eve stares back at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But there’s no “just kidding”, no “sike”, no “gotcha”. 

“I’ll get you an interview, then?” Bill says.

“Yes, I guess so,” Eve says. It still doesn’t seem real, but she can at least go to an interview, can’t she?

Once the dishes are done, Bill hands Eve a container of leftover sushi as he bids her farewell.

“Thank you, Bill,” Eve says. “And thank Keiko for me. Congrats on your marriage and all that.”

“With any luck, soon you may be able to congratulate us on something else, too.”

“Good luck.” Eve hugs him one last time.

Though it’s nearly summer, the night air is crisp as Eve walks home from Bill’s apartment. Luckily he doesn’t live too far from Villanelle’s.

The city is unusually quiet, tonight. Not many people walking down the sidewalks, not many cars double-parked or honking on the streets. It leaves Eve alone with her thoughts, the way she’s been for far too much of this week. 

_Noise. Please,_ She thinks out at the universe. _Car alarm. Police siren. College kids partying. Anything._

Then, her wish is granted. Her phone rings.

It’s Villanelle. It’s Villanelle calling her, in real time, not a voicemail. Eve can hardly believe it; she nearly forgets to answer in time.

“Hi,” Eve says.

“Hi,” Villanelle says. The most words they’ve exchanged contemporaneously in over two days. 

“Are you still with Irina?”

“No, I’m home. Are you almost done?”

“I’m walking home from Bill’s now.”

“Where are you?” Villanelle says. “Wait for me. I’m coming.”

“I’m on the Common. By…”

“The ducklings.”

Eve looks up, and sees Villanelle, about fifty yards away, wearing Eve’s old, gray hoodie. Their eyes meet. They both drop their phones, and walk towards each other.

They finally meet, right by the ducks, and Villanelle pulls Eve in for such a long, mind-blowing kiss, that Eve drops the Tupperware full of sushi to the pavement.

“I missed you,” Villanelle says when their lips finally part.

“I can tell,” Eve says, glancing down at the hoodie. “Maybe we shouldn’t do that in front of the babies.” She gestures at the bronze ducklings.

Villanelle bends down to pick up the fallen Tupperware. Then, they move to sit on the bench a few feet away.

“So, sweetie,” Villanelle begins in a deep, dramatic voice, “How was your week?”

“It was shit,” Eve says. “At least, until tonight.”

“You really missed me that bad?”

“No,” Eve says. “I mean, I did. And that’s a big part of it. But that’s not all.” She bites her lip. “At dinner, just now, Bill told me about this job…”

“A job? For you?” Villanelle says excitedly. 

“With him, at the FBI. Supposedly the description is based in my exact education and experience, kind of spooky, actually.”

“That’s amazing,” Villanelle says. “So you can finally quit and go do your dream.”

“Yeah, I mean, if I get the job,” Eve says.

“You don’t seem excited,” Villanelle says. She reaches out and pulls a stray curl of hair out of Eve’s face. “What is it?”

“Have you been talking to Bill behind my back?” Eve says. “Planning, and plotting, and, making this job appear out of nowhere?”

Villanelle goes stony. “What makes you say that?”

“Bill knew you were busy tonight,” Eve says. “And somehow, he knew I don’t really like my new job, though I haven’t told him that, and I haven’t even really told you. And then this opportunity that’s just tailor-made for me comes out of the blue, and it’s exactly your style to do these big gestures, and…” Eve knows she’s babbling, so she tries to collect herself. “Just… tell me if it’s true? Have you been talking to Bill?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says, solemn as a monk. “But–”

“Do you see why I find this concerning?” Eve asks. “Vill, this is, I mean, I love you, but… you can’t fucking control my whole life like this. The wedding’s in a month, and I get wanting to try to cram all the romance you can into that time, but this is my life. This goes beyond the wedding.”

“I know,” Villanelle says softly.

“I can’t sleep, can’t turn around, knowing you’re pulling strings all over the place, it’s like–”

“It’s not like that,” Villanelle says, cutting Eve off before she can express the worry that they both know all too well.

“I want so badly to believe you,” Eve says.

“It isn’t.” Villanelle takes Eve’s hand and squeezes it. “I got Bill’s number at the engagement party. We talked a little bit. I wanted to get to know your friend.”

“Get to know?”

“After the little Hitachi Wand incident, I had to make sure he knows I am more than a machine.”

“That’s fair,” Eve mumbles.

“Maybe we talked about you a little. And maybe I mentioned to him that you don’t seem happy at your new job… which, I hate to break it to you, but it’s kind of obvious. And maybe I asked him if he knew about how you used to dream of spy stuff, if he’d ever talked to you about it. But that’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Read the texts if you don’t believe me.”

“So…” Eve begins, still processing. “The job… is real?”

“Yes.”

It’s too much for Eve to fully deal with at the moment. All she can do is take Villanelle in her arms and kiss her again, ducklings be damned. She breathes in the scent of Villanelle’s perfume, and it’s like pure oxygen after she’s been slowly suffocating all week.

“I missed you,” Eve sighs.

“I missed you too.”

“We have hardly any time left,” Eve says. “A month. Less. And it’s all slipping away…”

 _Oh no, here it comes._ The fear that she’s been sitting on all week is finally bubbling up like Old Faithful, right on schedule. No more stopping it up, it’s going to gush out like a geyser.

“Shh,” Villanelle comforts Eve before her word-geyser can get too out of control. “I am not going to lose another moment with you.”

“But what about Irina?”

“I called her bluff,” Villanelle says. “I said if she tells on us, I will tell our dad about her secret business, which is not very legal.”

“Oh god, what is it, drugs?”

“She takes the SAT for other kids and gets them perfect scores,” Villanelle explains. “She makes very good money doing it, too. That’s why she didn’t want me to pay her off in cash.”

“That’s… really cool,” Eve marvels. “As illegal things go.”

“So I have to drop her off on test dates but other than that…” Villanelle squeezes Eve’s hand again. “I promise, I will never, ever leave your side.”

“Good,” Eve says. “I mean, except for going to work.”

“Right.”

“And the bathroom.”

They laugh together, but prepositions hang in the air unsaid.

_Until. Unless. For now._

They sit in silence on the bench, staring at the line of ducklings as if they might move suddenly. Eve leans her head onto Villanelle’s shoulder – a comfortable perch; her favorite hoodie is soft even from the outside.

Eve doesn’t know how many minutes pass before Villanelle pipes up unprompted, “‘I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; ’Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

Eve picks her head up, confused at the uncharacteristically flowery quote.

“Tennyson,” Villanelle says. “My mother used to quote that poem all the time, when she was feeding ducks, after they’d fly away.” Villanelle looks back out at the metal ducks before them, shakes her head slightly, and snorts. “So dramatic.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” Eve says.

The city is still eerily quiet, but Eve doesn’t mind it so much anymore. The breeze whistles faintly through the trees.

Eve leans into Villanelle, and before she knows it, she’s crying. She hasn’t cried, really cried, tears coming down the face cried, in a long time. She buries her face in the stretched-out shoulder fabric of her lacrosse hoodie and sobs. It’s a bizarre mix of deja vu and novelty, since she’s cried _in_ this very hoodie plenty of times, but never _into_ it. 

“What is it?” Villanelle asks.

“I don’t want this to end,” Eve says. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

Villanelle shifts, making Eve pick her head up. Then, she extends her arm around Eve, and pulls her close, so she nuzzles into Villanelle’s chest once again. 

Villanelle doesn’t say a word. What is there to say? Her fingers rub up and down on Eve’s shoulder, while they sit in the pooling moonlight, and stare at the ducks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i projected real life fears into my writing again
> 
> for more and less depressing content follow me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


	20. My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve learns to live in the moment.

_“What’s the point in waiting anymore?_  
_‘Cause girl, I’ve never been more sure._  
_(That baby, it’s you.)”_  
—Justin Timberlake

* * *

“What a crazy month it’s been.”

Lisa, the Chief Operating Officer, is of course referring to Eve’s first month of employment at LuciTech, the milestone which is the reason for their lunch outing. She has no idea how true her words are for Eve – though Eve’s time at LuciTech has been by far the _least_ crazy part of her past four weeks.

“What would you say has defined your first month with us?”

Eve pushes around her salad with her fork, and wishes she ordered a burger instead. Something with meat. Something substantial; something she could really bite into.

“Eve?”

Right. She has to come up with a response. Something snappy, with buzzwords. Synergy? Streamline? Cooperation?

“It’s been nice,” Eve says. “No complaints.”

Not only does that answer sound idiotic, it’s not even true. Eve has a long list of complaints about the job so far, but has resisted them as much as possible, chalking her discomfort up to a necessary acclimation period. One of these days, she tells herself, she will settle in for real, and feel comfortable about this being her forever job.

Or… she might get recruited by the FBI. Those initials never fail to send a giddy thrill through Eve. Much as she’s tried not to get attached to the job prospect Bill informed her about, especially seeing as her interview won’t be for another week or two, she’s started daydreaming about it a dangerous amount.

Who would’ve thought that her business major and two decades of working in the financial sector would end up giving her any shot of working for a federal investigation agency, like she used to imagine as a teenager? Or, that her minor in criminology might ever actually be useful for something?

“…don’t you think so?”

Eve looks up and realizes she missed an entire speech and thus has no idea what Lisa wants her to respond to. 

“Absolutely,” Eve says with all the conviction she can muster. She adds a strong nod and hopes that approval is the correct reaction, which it seems to be from the way Lisa folds her hands on the table and plunges onward.

“Let’s talk about where we want to move in the third quarter.”

Eve’s insides groan. She’s been trying hard not to think about anything past June third, because it hurts. She’d torn all the following pages out of her mental calendar. If she doesn’t think about life after the wedding, it doesn’t exist. But while Lisa rambles on about new outreach goals starting in July, all the questions Eve has repeatedly pushed down float back to the surface.

What will her life look like in a month? That framing of the question is a little too easy. The harder, more pertinent version is: what does Eve _want_ her life to look like?

There are a few pieces she’s been working on. House. Job. Relationship… While she’s checked the boxes for the time being, the solutions are not as permanent as one would like, which means, she will have to ask herself those questions yet again. Like Sisyphus and his boulder, Eve’s trapped in a loop of reconstructing her life from scratch.

Lisa’s narration comes back into focus again. “What numbers would you like to see on our ARR a year from now? On that track, where do you think we should be in six months?”

“Not here,” Eve says.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to be working here in six months. Or one month. Actually, this is my two weeks notice. I quit.”

A few seconds pass before Eve hears and processes the words she just said.

_Did I just quit?_

It’s unclear if this is real life, or one of her frequent daydreams.

“I’m not certain I heard you right,” Lisa says, folding her napkin into a neat square. “Did you just say that you quit?”

Here’s Eve’s chance to correct it. Take it back in three, two, one…

“Yes, I did. I quit.”

She immediately gets high, and giddy. It takes all her strength not to stand up in the middle of the restaurant and jump for joy.

On second thought, she just did something stupid, right? Very stupid? She ought to be very scared about what will happen to her if she doesn’t get the FBI job, which is in all honestly, a very likely possibility. But instead of fear, she feels oddly sure of herself.

Eve thinks back to the last times she ended things like this – quitting her job in LA, running out on Niko. In neither case did she regret her choice, but regardless, she felt a deep and persistent shame over both. Trusting her gut was selfish and stupid; she should’ve just stuck out the unhappy situations because it was the sensible thing to do.

Eve waits for that familiar guilt to creep over her, to wrap her up and make her feel foolish for what she’s done. But she remains buoyant. What has changed, now?

She has a sudden recollection, of walking with Villanelle down the marathon route. When they stopped to chat with Villanelle’s friends, Anne-Laure and Pierre. _“I live in the moment.”_ That’s what Villanelle said. Eve thought it a cop-out answer at the time, and it was certainly not the way she ever lived her own life, but… could she?

Eve’s past is a mess; her future is a dark, scary void. The present moment is the only safe place for Eve to exist.

Technically, she’s still employed at LuciTech for two more weeks, but there’s not much incentive for her to return Derek’s emails or read over Martha’s proposal in a timely fashion, now. So as she spins around in her leather office chair, instead of dwelling on those future questions, she asks herself, what does she want, in this moment?

She pulls out her cell phone and calls Villanelle.

* * *

_Knock knock._

“Excuse me, am I in the right place? I’m looking for the Vice President of Eating Pussy.”

“Come in,” Eve says. A week ago, or even a day ago, she would’ve been furious at Villanelle for such indiscretion in her workplace, but now it couldn’t be much lower on the list of things Eve is worried about, though that list itself is growing shorter by the second.

Living in the moment is nice. She feels immune to danger. Like a white man in any position of authority. An absolutely exhilarating sensation.

Villanelle creeps inside and shuts the door behind her, slumping against the surface as she takes in the space of Eve’s office. “Wow.”

“You didn’t expect it to be this big?”

“I didn’t expect you to have such taste,” Villanelle says, as her gaze sweeps from the prints of old-fashioned ships on the wall, to the four-foot tall potted fan palm in the corner, to the polished mahogany desk.

“My predecessor had taste,” Eve says. “And, apparently, enough money to not care about taking any of this furniture with him.”

“Makes me wish I worked for a firm,” Villanelle says. “But I like being my own boss too much.”

“I have to tell you something,” Eve says. A bit of fear clenches in her throat. “I quit my job.”

“You quit?”

“Just now,” Eve says. “It was crazy and spontaneous and stupid, and at some point it’s all going to hit me and I will regret it and maybe beg them to take me back, but for now I just feel, really free? Don’t know how long that’ll last but–”

Eve’s air supply chokes off as Villanelle wraps her in the biggest, tightest bear hug she’s ever experienced.

“I’m so proud of you.” It comes out a bit muffled as Villanelle’s cheek is squished up against the side of Eve’s head.

“That’s… not the reaction I was expecting.” Eve manages, catching her breath as Villanelle loosens her grip. “This is a risky move.”

“I don’t think it’s risky,” Villanelle says. “Besides, you are going to have a much better job soon. With Bill. A job you are meant for.”

Eve suddenly recalls a night with Niko – one night as she peeped through the curtains and tried to determine if the neighbors were having a threesome. He’d said to her, “You are in the wrong career. You should’ve been a spy.” But he said it with a laugh. Only a joke. 

But Villanelle looks at Eve, telling her she’s made the right choice, and she means it.

“I’m scared, though,” Eve says. “Or, I should be scared. Why am I not scared?”

“I love you,” Villanelle says.

_Oh, right. That’s why._

“Also this way, I can blow off work and see you more before the wedding,” Eve murmurs. “Because what are they gonna do, fire me?”

“I love you even more,” Villanelle sighs, then looks around once more. “It’s a shame you are leaving, though. This is a nice office…”

Hardly three seconds elapse before they spring into action.

Eve rushes to close the blinds. Before she even turns back, Villanelle is upon her. She digs her hands through Villanelle’s hair and takes her, roughly. Completely enveloped in one another, they stumble up against the wall, brushing up against the fronds of the fan palm. As her mouth is locked with Eve’s, Villanelle starts laughing.

“What is it?”

“The plant. It tickles.”

New plan. They relocate; Eve sits in her leather chair, and spins to the side so Villanelle can climb onto her lap. Eve attacks Villanelle’s neck, kissing across the sensitive skin, and Villanelle arches her back. But then their center of gravity shifts, and Villanelle slips towards Eve’s desk, nearly knocking over her computer monitor.

“Wait,” Eve says. “I have just the thing.” She reaches underneath her desk, and pulls out a plump white cushion. “This is my angry pillow.”

“Angry pillow?” Villanelle puts on a withering look.

“You know. For screaming, punching, et cetera.”

“It’s really the right call that you quit.”

They position the pillow between Villanelle’s back and the desk, so she has some support as she sits on Eve’s lap once again.

“Talk dirty to me,” Villanelle whispers.

“Fiscal planning,” Eve says seductively. “Quarterly returns…”

“Be the boss,” Villanelle pants. “Show me why they gave you this big office.”

“Tell Donna I need that report on my desk by tomorrow,” Eve says as she kisses along Villanelle’s jawline.

“Oh, yes.” Villanelle’s nails dig into Eve’s shoulder, while Eve sneaks a hand up Villanelle’s shirt to cup her breast.

“Run the comparisons on PPC to make sure we’re getting a good ROI.”

“Yes, boss,” Villanelle pants. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Eve inhales Villanelle’s scent, her perfume and her shampoo. She can hear Villanelle’s pulse rush in her neck. Meanwhile, Villanelle grips Eve around the neck, her legs spread across Eves, grinding lightly against Eve’s thigh. The temperature rises in the small room. Villanelle’s long fingers slip down Eve’s waistband–

_Knock knock._

Shit.

“Quick, get off – get off of me!” Eve hisses. Living in the moment is one thing, but getting caught with a woman straddling her in her office is another.

Villanelle scrambles to get free and ends up falling off the side of the chair. Her ass hits carpet just as the door swings open, and a young man clutching a leather portfolio pops his head through the door. 

“Mo!” Eve exclaims, hoping her cheeriness may project the impression that everything is normal. “Good afternoon!”

“Eve,” he says. Then his eyes widen as he notices the other woman plopped on the floor. “Is this a bad time?”

“My apologies,” Villanelle says, as she bobs up to her feet. “I’m only visiting. I’m Eve’s ste–“

“This is my girlfriend,” Eve blurts.

Villanelle shoots Eve a wary look, but extends her hand to Mo. “Villanelle. It’s a pleasure.”

“Right,” he says, shaking her hand, and looking a bit shaken himself. “Eve, I was just here to drop off the new ad copy for you to look over before tomorrow’s meeting.” He puts the portfolio down on the desk. “And I’ll just see myself out, now.”

He shuffles back outside and shuts the door firmly.

“So I’m your girlfriend here, now, too?” Villanelle cocks an eyebrow.

“You’re always my girlfriend,” Eve says. “I really love this two weeks’ notice no-consequences thing. Think I could give a two weeks’ notice for my entire life?” Then she furrows her brow. “That came out darker than I meant it.”

“While you’re in such a good mood I need to tell you something,” Villanelle says, climbing back onto Eve’s lap. “Tonight, I am taking you on a date.”

“Why would I get mad at that?”

“We are going out to sea.”

“Like… swimming?”

“On a boat, dumbass.” Villanelle puts a finger to Eve’s lips. “Don’t say it’s too much. I didn’t spend anything. I didn’t even come up with it. One of my clients begged me to take out his yacht because he’s been traveling so much he can’t use it. He begged me. I’m doing him a favor, and you just happen to be an extra passenger.”

Eve blinks. “I was going to say it sounds like fun.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Eve?”

“I’m a changed woman.” 

It may be trite, but it’s true. Funny how one little decision changed Eve’s whole perspective.

Maybe she’ll realize quitting was a mistake, and the shame will come. Any minute now…

* * *

They stop at the apartment after work, for Eve to decide exactly what attire befits dinner on a boat. The weather forecast promises a warm, clear night, so Eve selects a blue form-fitting dress with geometric straps. She does her makeup and scrunches her curls to revitalize them.

As she emerges from the bathroom, Villanelle lets out a classic “wow.”

“That dress,” Villanelle says. “Where have you been keeping it?”

“In a cardboard box, right over there,” Eve deadpans. “Forty bucks from Banana Republic. Marked down for some stitching irregularity on the hem.”

“You’re so sexy when you try to ruin things for me.”

“Looking good yourself,” Eve says, and lets her eyes roam over Villanelle’s figure very disrespectfully. She’s in a plain black suit over a tailored white button-down shirt. Simple. Classic. Sexy. High heeled sandals finish off the look, which means Eve ought to grab a pair of heels, too. Crap. _It’s not fair when tall people wear heels,_ she thinks as she digs through her arsenal for an appropriate pair of pumps.

They call an Uber to take them down to the docks, and Eve doesn’t complain this time. If they only have so many nights like this left, they may as well do it right. Get someone else to drive so they can properly enjoy themselves, and each other.

When the black SUV pulls up outside the apartment, they climb in the backseat. The driver, who introduces himself as Yuval, asks if they want water.

“No thanks,” Eve says.

“Is this music alright?” Yuval asks, apparently very concerned for their comfort.

“It’s perfect,” Villanelle says. “Turn it up.”

Yuval obliges, and the generic country song that was background noise before now fills up the entire cabin of the SUV.

Eve looks at Villanelle quizzically, but she answers Eve’s unspoken question when, as soon as Yuval’s focus is on the road, she leans over and begins nibbling at Eve’s neck.

“We had some unfinished business, in your office,” she murmurs, her voice low enough that it’s nearly drowned out by the music.

“Here? Really?” Eve breathes. But her protest is weak; after all, this wouldn’t even make the top three riskiest places they’ve gotten entangled.

Eve melts while Villanelle bites at her earlobe. Her hand reaches in between Villanelle’s thighs, earning a soft purr of approval. She presses against the core of Villanelle, and can feel the warmth through the fabric of her suit pants.

Villanelle’s lips are like fresh fruit; her skin is softer than silk. Eve grazes the back of her fingers across Villanelle’s cheek, while her other hand rocks forward in a steady rhythm, eliciting a quiet, liquidy moan.

As captivating as every bit of of Villanelle’s being is, Eve finds herself distracted. “Are we speeding up?”

“Yes, faster.” Villanelle’s hands grip around the base of Eve’s skull, pulling her close.

“No, I mean, is the car speeding up.” Eve wrenches her head around to peer through the tinted windows and notes the buildings around them whizzing by. She suspects Yuval is playing fast and loose with the city speed limit. “I think we’re almost there.”

“Yes, very close,” Villanelle breathes. “Don’t stop.”

Eve keeps it up. But right as Villanelle’s cheeks tint pink, and her breathing starts to come short and shallow, there’s a squeal of rubber on pavement, and the car jolts to a stop.

“Here we are,” Yuval says loudly. “Thank you, have a good night.” He hits the button to automatically open the side doors of the car and taps his steering wheel impatiently.

Perhaps the music didn’t cover their activities as well as they thought.

Eve sheepishly withdraws her hand, grabs her purse, and climbs out the side of the car. “Thank you,” she murmurs. Villanelle sits for a few seconds, crosses her legs, then climbs out after Eve. “Thank you.”

Yuval throws the car into reverse and skids away without so much as a “you’re welcome.”

“Tip him well,” Eve mutters.

Villanelle straightens her suit jacket, takes Eve’s arm in hers, and leads her through the marina. “Richard said it was the third from the end… ah. Here we are.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“I knew you work for rich people, but this is…” Eve finds herself at a loss for words, and instead lets out a wolf whistle.

The boat at the end of the pier must be at least eighty feet long, with a sleek white hull, a small cabin towards the front with a doorway that leads down into the interior of the boat, and a wide open deck to the rear, upon which is set up a small table for two.

Villanelle takes Eve’s hand and helps her across the gangplank. She pulls out one chair for Eve to sit at the table, which is already adorned with two fancy plate settings and a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket.

“Wait here,” she says. “I will go let the captain know we are ready to move out.”

“Captain?”

“Comes with the boat,” Villanelle says. “He gets paid well to take us out and stay out of the way while we do our thing.”

She ducks into the cabin for a moment, and soon, Eve hears the low hum of a motor kicking up as the boat pulls away from the dock, out into the expanse of Boston Harbor.   
Villanelle reappears a moment later, joins Eve at the table, and uncorks the bottle of wine.

“You know what?” Eve says, as she feels the crisp sea breeze while she sips her wine. “I never understood the obsession with boats before, but this is nice. Maybe these rich bastards are onto something.”

“Everything tastes better on the ocean,” Villanelle says. “Plus, the view.”

They drink and gaze out onto the harbor. The sky is a brilliant splash of purple, pink, and orange, as the sun sinks down, half-swallowed by the sea.

A glass and a half later, Villanelle pulls out a warming dish and uncovers the main course. “Ta-da.”

“Is this…” Eve looks down at the casserole dish in front of her. “Shepherd’s Pie?”

“Kenny told me it was your favorite. That you would always order it on family vacation,” Villanelle says. “So I tracked down a chef who used to work at the hotel your family used to go to…”

Eve freezes in the middle of serving herself a portion.

“Just kidding. I looked up a recipe online,” Villanelle says with a stilted laugh. “I hope it came out well.”

Eve sticks her fork through the layers on her plate and pops a bite into her mouth. Maybe it’s not exactly the same, but the taste still transports her back to those family trips, almost twenty years ago.

“Is it good?” A nervous uptick in Villanelle’s voice.

“It’s perfect.”

Villanelle’s face floods with relief as she serves herself an ample portion. For a few minutes, they eat, and sip at their wine. It’s nice just to… be.

But then, as it happens every few minutes like clockwork, Eve remembers, they’re running out of time. Every moment counts, and she shouldn’t waste any of it by chewing her Shepherd’s Pie in silence. She needs to make conversation; make the most of their time.

As she looks around at the harbor, inspiration strikes. “Want to hear an absolutely embarrassing story that I’m sure I’ll regret telling you?”

Villanelle nods eagerly.

“When I was little, like, eight maybe, and we learned about the Boston Tea Party in school? I started stealing Carolyn’s afternoon tea, taking the cup when she wasn’t looking and running to dump it in the kitchen sink. I’d yell, ‘No taxation without refrigeration!’”

“Refrigeration?”

“Maybe I missed some details in class.”

Villanelle laughs, and it’s all worth it to hear that sound. Who knows how many more times Eve will get to hear it? Each time, one tally mark is erased off some cosmic scoreboard, counting down all the joyful moments they have left.

Eve shakes that grim thought away. _Live in the moment,_ she chides herself.

Bellies full of meat, peas, and potatoes, they take each other’s hands, and go to the edge of the deck. Villanelle holds up a finger, signaling for Eve to wait, and slips over to the edge of the cabin, fussing with some wires. Then, a string of lights lining the entire deck of the ship light at once. Eve marvels, as Villanelle rejoins her side, looking out at the water. Now that the sun has set, the sky is dusky, and the dappled surface of the waves reflect the city lights. 

“Do you ever wonder about what if our parents weren’t… you know?” Eve says.

“All of the time,” Villanelle says.

“In the morning,” Eve says, “There’s about three seconds, after I wake up, before I remember. They’re a really nice three seconds.”

“What if we could make it more than three seconds?”

“What, like, get them to call off the wedding?” Eve laughs. “Believe me, if I wanted to break them up, I could do that easily. But no.” It makes her ache to even say it. “They’re happy together. Selfish bitch that I am, even I don’t want to mess that up.”

“Right,” Villanelle says.

“But I wonder sometimes about if they never got together in the first place,” Eve says. 

“We might not have met,” Villanelle says. “You wouldn’t have come back home, and I would still be in Paris. We certainly would not have been in that club on the same night.”

“And if we did, we probably would’ve never seen each other again,” Eve says. “At least, that’s what I thought, when I went home that night.”

“You didn’t want to see me again?” Villanelle frowns. “I’m hurt.”

“You know what I mean.” Eve shoves Villanelle gently.

“Don’t you think there’s any chance we would’ve met another way?” Villanelle says. “Maybe you would still become an agent, and come after me for embezzlement or insider trading.”

“Are you telling me you have committed, or plan to commit, financial crimes?”

“It’s only a fantasy, Eve,” Villanelle groans. “I’m trying to make it exciting.”

“Nothing could be much more exciting than the truth.” Eve sighs. “How did we end up here?”

“I don’t know. But I’m glad that we did.” Villanelle says. “Guess it’s a good thing our parents fell in love after all.”

“Three months is better than nothing.”

Yet, four months would be better than three, and five better than four… Again, Eve rages at June third, that sadistic, inevitable deadline. The prepositions that plagued her the other night light up once more.

_Until. For now. Unless._

_Unless…?_

“I try to imagine the future,” Eve says. The thoughts are too much to unravel in her brain, she has to think out loud. “I ask myself, will I settle here, will I buy a house, where is my career going? But any time I try to answer those questions, all I see is your face.”

The longer Eve talks, the faster the words come. “I don’t care if my mother is upset, I don’t care if I’m cast out of the family for good. There’s no other option for me. There’s only one thing I’m sure of right now, that I need you in my life for more than just a few more weeks.”

Hands trembling, she pulls the aquamarine ring off her finger and holds it out. Villanelle looks down at it, confused.

To Eve’s own surprise, her voice comes out steady and strong as she says, “Let’s get married.”

_Smack!_

“How dare you?”

Eve stumbles back and clutches her cheek, which stings with the pain of Villanelle’s slap.

Villanelle paces the deck madly, muttering to herself. “Of course she had to go and mess it up…”

“What the hell?” Eve screeches. “You can just say ‘no’!”

“Do you even realize how you’ve ruined everything?” Villanelle spits.

“Ruined?” Eve says. “I’m trying to save this! Look, if we get married in the next three weeks, we aren’t step-anything. We’re just two people in love. If our parents happen to get married after, well, there’s no rules against that. You wouldn’t be so offended if you thought it through.”

Villanelle laughs wildly. “She thinks I haven’t thought it through.” She stalks over to the cabin, her stilettos clacking on the wooden deck. She yells belowdeck, “You might as well come out now. It’s all spoiled.”

Eve’s confusion only grows as Bill emerges from the cabin, wearing boat captain’s hat and grinning. “Did it happen?”

“No,” Villanelle snaps. “Eve messed it up.”

“What’s going on?” Eve demands. “Bill? You’re a yacht captain?”

“I moonlight,” he chuckles.

“Kenny! Elena!” Villanelle yells through the cabin door. A few moments later, they emerge from below. 

“Congratulations!” Elena exclaims, but Kenny clutches her arm, puts a finger to his lips. 

“What’s happening? Why are you all here?” Eve asks. She must be dreaming, and her subconscious is drawing a cast of everyone she knows to a situation where they absolutely do not belong. She idly pinches her arm, but she does not wake. She’s very self-conscious, now, and tucks her ring away into her palm.

“This is how much I have _thought it through_ ,” Villanelle hisses, gesturing at the new crowd of people around them. “Everything was going to be perfect, but you had to go open your mouth.”

“I don’t…” Eve can’t even come up with the questions to ask anymore.

Villanelle pulls something small from her pocket and thrusts it at Eve. “I don’t care anymore. Just take it.”

“Oh my god.” Eve takes the box, but she can’t bring herself to open it, not that she needs to open it in order to guess what’s inside. The hinged box is about three inches, square, lined with black velvet.

The boat. The dinner. The guests. It all makes perfect sense, now.

“Open it,” Villanelle commands.

“No.”

“You can’t say no, after what you’ve done. Open it.”

“No. I want you to,” Eve says. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Can we rewind? You take the box, I’m gonna put this back on…” Eve slips her own ring back on her right hand. “And everyone else will go hide, because I’m assuming they weren’t supposed to be here for this part.”

Elena nods dutifully and ushers the two men back belowdeck, flashing a thumbs up as she goes.

“There,” Eve says. “Now, we can pick up where we left off. Take two.” Eve steps back over to the railing, just as she was before. “Come on.”

Villanelle follows, slowly. “It’s not the same. It all sounds stupid now.”

“I know it isn’t.”

Villanelle sighs, and leans on the railing, staring out at the sea. “I knew from the first moment I saw you.”

“Shut up. No you didn’t,” Eve blurts.

“Eve!”

“Sorry,” Eve says. “It’s just, I remember that day, and I just got off a plane. I looked a mess. I get being romantic, but there’s no way you looked at _that_ and thought…”

“Are you trying to ruin this a second time?”

“Sorry.” Eve mimes zipping her lips.

“I knew for a long time,” Villanelle continues. “But I thought it might be easier, if it was just sex. Maybe the sex would make the wanting go away. Maybe I would get bored. But this is different than anything I’ve ever had before, and I can’t bear the thought of letting it go. Of letting you go. Plus, I really can’t wait for a day when I don’t have to have such self-control with you in public.”

Villanelle turns to Eve. “I love you.” She reaches in her pocket, pulls out the ring. Although she knows what’s happening, Eve cannot stop her face from breaking into a smile as Villanelle gets down on one knee on that wooden deck on a boat in Boston Harbor.

Villanelle opens the ring box, and takes Eve’s breath away another time. There, before her, is a white-gold ring, etched with waves, that looks awfully familiar. As she plucks it from the cushion and looks closely, she confirms – it’s the very same ring she admired in the jewelry store in Rockport, on her and Villanelle’s weekend getaway, the one time they were able to escape and act like a full-time couple. Only there’s one major difference: now, the ring has a brilliant, round diamond set in the center.

“Eve,” Villanelle says, all the string lights reflected in her eyes like stars, “will you marry me?”

It’s the easiest question Eve has ever had to answer. “Yes.” 

Villanelle takes Eve’s left hand, and slides the ring over her fourth finger. It fits perfectly. Just another detail she thought of ahead of time. When she leans down to kiss Eve, their lips fit perfectly, too.

They call their friends back up. “Did it work the second time around?” Bill asks, peering around the corner cautiously. “Can we celebrate now?” 

Eve holds up her finger with the ring, and then all three all rush out, exchanging congratulatory hugs in every possible pairing.

First Eve lands in Elena’s arms, then Bill’s, but Eve gets a rush of fear as Kenny approaches her, somewhat reticent. Then, he throws his arms around her and pulls her in tight.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Eve says, muffled, into his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here, that you’re okay with this.” She stops short. “ _Are_ you okay with this?”

“Of course I’m okay with it,” Kenny says, then lets Eve go, so he can look her in the eyes. “When you’re with Villanelle, you’re the happiest I’ve ever seen you.” Reflecting back the words Eve said to him hardly two weeks ago.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kenny says. “Though, I guess I’ll have to get used to you mentioning it, now that you’re engaged.” 

“So you knew the whole time?” 

“She asked for my blessing,” Kenny says.

“No!”

“All proper and serious, like. I felt like I should’ve asked her for a dowry.” Kenny cracks a smile.

Meanwhile, Villanelle has pulled out her phone, and is exchanging a few businesslike commands. “Operation Foxtrot is a go. Execute.”

She hangs up, and grins at Eve’s curious look, clearly enjoying herself. She slips her hand into the small of Eve’s back and guides her over to one side of the boat, points at the shore of one of the small islands across the harbor.

Something whizzes through the sky, then explodes. Fireworks.

“Wave hello,” Villanelle says, waving her arm high in the air. Eve squints, and just barely makes out two figures on the shadowy shore. One of them is rather small and jumping up and down excitedly.

“Irina?”

“This is the only part she wanted to help with.” Villanelle shakes her head. “She loves to blow stuff up.”

“Is that safe?”

“Don’t worry, there’s a professional with her.”

“When did you…?” Eve gasps. “How?”

Villanelle smirks. “Didn’t you wonder where I was all week?”

“No,” Eve gasps. Then she smacks Villanelle on the arm. “So all that time you were being ‘blackmailed’ by Irina, you could’ve been with me?”

“I had to plan!” Villanelle says. “I didn’t like being away from you, either. But to trade one week, for forever, is not so bad.”

“Forever.” The word feels too big for Eve’s mouth. She stretches her fingers out in front of her, turning the ring so the diamond sparkles in the moonlight.

“I hope it isn’t too much,” Villanelle says, softly. “I thought you wouldn’t want something too big.”

“You were right about that,” Eve says.

“Forgive me for splurging on the quality, though.” Villanelle leans close, and whispers, “It’s nicer than your mother’s.”

“It’s beautiful,” Eve says. Then, she remembers, and yanks her own aquamarine ring back off her finger, and holds it up to the light. It looks positively dull in comparison.

“Give it here,” Villanelle says.

“I’ll get you a better ring,” Eve says. “It seemed nice on the spot, but I’m sure you want something blingier…”

“How much would you spend?”

Eve bites her lip. “How much do you want me to spend?”

Villanelle puts her arm around Eve and pulls her close. “It’s the thought that counts, Eve. Besides, I like this one. It reminds me of you.” She twirls the aquamarine ring around, then slips it onto her own ring finger. It’s loose, of course, but they can get it sized (and thoroughly polished) another day.

Bill ducks back into the cabin and steers the boat in a lazy arc, to pass closer by the island where Irina and the professional (thank God) are still launching more fireworks. Kenny and Elena are entwined down by the stern, having their own moment. 

Eve leans into Villanelle as they stare up at the night sky. Lights blossom over the dark sea – green, red, white, one after another, leaving sparkling trails in their wake. It’s extravagant. It’s excessive. It’s ostentatious. It’s _Villanelle._

“So I guess we should talk about, you know.” Eve sighs. “Does this mean we have to tell the parents?”

“I imagine they’ll find out at some point,” Villanelle says. “Maybe by the tenth anniversary.”

“Seriously.”

“I don’t know.”

The fireworks whistle through the air then explode, one after another. Whoosh. Bang. Crackle.

“We can figure it out tomorrow,” Eve says. “Or the next day. Or the day after that.”

For once, they have time. As much time as they need.

Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys have NO IDEA how nervous I was to get to this chapter!
> 
> Special thanks to Fixy for serving as proposal consultant, and fielding my annoying messages for the past ~8 weeks about how I was so afraid I spoiled this turn of events.
> 
> Thanks to the discord pals for being bad influences and encouraging me to keep dumb lines I should've deleted.
> 
> And thanks to Kara for being my resident romcom expert, and offering relentless emotional support in my fic writing and everything else, though she won't see this shout-out for a while yet, since she doesn't read WIPs...
> 
> let me know what you think in the comments or find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxo
> 
> P.S.: please enjoy some amazing art of this chapter by [unlovedoksana](https://twitter.com/unlovedoksana/status/1288901810606895105?s=20)
> 
> P.P.S.: If you want to know what Villanelle was up to during chapter 19, you can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996582) :)


	21. Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the final week before their parents' wedding, Eve and Villanelle plan parties for the couple, and face important questions about their own relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, there's a bonus chapter if you choose to read it - not necessary to following this story, but if you want to know what Villanelle was up to during chapter 19, you can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996582) :)

_“At long last love has arrived,_  
_And I thank God I’m alive.”_  
—Bob Crewe & Bob Gaudio

* * *

Full name. City of birth. Parents’ names. Current job and address. Rattling of all this information in sequence feels like the worst first date Eve has ever been on. Especially since she technically has no answer to “job” and “address” at the moment – her final two weeks at her old job are up, and she reluctantly rattles off the family’s home address for that question, since she still needs to secure her own house.

But this unromantic interrogation is not a date, it’s only a laundry list of personal information that the city of Boston needs to know before granting a marriage license. After each answer Eve and Villanelle offer, the clerk behind the window types their response into her computer.

Villanelle taps her fingers on the counter, then leans close to the window of the registry office. “Do they ever let you out of there?”

The clerk ignores her and continues in a dry tone. “I’ll need proof of citizenship status from both of you, as well.”

Eve’s stomach drops. She hadn’t considered this hurdle. Before she can so much as ask, Villanelle pulls out a passport. A U.S. passport. “I figured you’d need to see this.”

“You’re a citizen?” Eve blurts.

“My mother was born here.”

“You never mentioned that.”

“Oh my god,” Villanelle says. “Did you think this was a green card marriage?”

“No, I just…” Eve mumbles. “I never thought about it before.”

The clerk blinks dully at them. “And neither of you has a current marriage or other legally binding relationship?”

Villanelle turns to Eve, chewing her lip nervously. “Is this a bad time to tell you about my secret wife in Spain?”

Eve punches her in the arm. “That’s not funny.”

“It is a bit.”

“It’s frighteningly plausible, is what it is.”

The clerk stares out at them dolefully. “Ma’am, do you currently have a spouse, in this or any other country?”

“No,” Villanelle admits.

Eve is rather embarrassed by the whole exchange, but the clerk has apparently seen worse, because she’s entirely unaffected as she rifles through the various papers. “Well, it looks like all of this is in order, but I’ll be in touch if there are any issues. If it all checks out, you can come back in three days to pick up your marriage license.”

The clerk rattles off a routine speech about other legal aspects of the marriage process, including how to book an appointment at a courthouse to be married by a justice of the peace and where they can go to change their names, then they’re on their way down the steps of City Hall.

“So are you going to take my name?” Villanelle says as they get in the car.

“Eve Vasilieva.” Eve makes a face. “It sounds weird.”

“Not any weirder than Eve Martens.”

“Shut up.”

“Were you going to change your name for Niko?”

Eve shifts uncomfortably under her seatbelt. She hasn’t told Villanelle much about her last fiancée, and Villanelle tends to politely steer clear of the topic, most of the time. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“Always.”

“To answer your question, I hadn’t decided. Didn’t get that far. But he definitely would’ve wanted me to.”

“What was his name?”

“Polastri.”

“Eve Polastri.” Villanelle scrunches up her mouth, considering it. “That does sound better, actually.”

“Maybe I’ll use it.” Eve chuckles. “We’re allowed a free name change. They didn’t say it had to be each other’s.”

“Ah, yes. So you can become Eve Polastri, and I can become Princess Consuela Bananahammock.”

“Have you been staying up to watch _Friends_ reruns at two in the morning, again?”

“Don’t be such a Ross.”

* * *

“ _This_ is the big bachelor party you planned for Konstantin that you couldn’t tell me about?” Eve gets out and looks at the location Villanelle drove them to. “Paintball?”

“I had to keep you from preparing. I fully intend for my family to win.”

“ _Your_ family?” Eve scoffs. “I thought we’re all one big happy family now.”

Villanelle’s face goes stony and serious. “Not today.”

As they enter the facility, they join the rest of the family in suiting up in canvas jumpsuits and plastic safety goggles, while an employee of the paintball range explains the rules. They’ll play one round, all or nothing, one hit and you’re out. Three on three, team Martens versus team Vasiliev. Elena will serve as spectator and referee for any inevitable squabbles, also because she finds the prospect of getting shot, even with paint, rather terrifying.

Eve thinks it’s a bit of an odd choice for a father’s wedding celebration, until she sees how Konstantin is more giddy with excitement than anyone. Once they are all dressed for battle, and equipped with paint guns, they take the battlefield, a large outdoor space filled with a maze of walls and platforms, barriers and gaps – exciting terrain for a paint war. Then, the two halves of the family separate to their respective home bases on opposite ends of the area to spend the precious few minutes before the game begins building a plan.

Carolyn takes the lead as they huddle behind some wooden panels and bales of hay. 

“Here is the strategy we will execute,” Carolyn says, deadly serious. “Eve will guard the base. Kenny and I will move in a pincer formation and double team Konstantin. He is the biggest threat, an expert with a gun from his time in the FSB.”

“What about Villanelle?” Eve blurts. “She won medals for shooting at the University games.” Carolyn and Kenny both stare at her blankly. “I think… she mentioned it… once, maybe…”

“If that’s true, then she may be an almost equal threat,” Carolyn says, wrinkling her brow. “Perhaps you can distract her.”

“How would I do that?”

“I’m sure you can come up with something.”

A horn sounds, signaling the start of the game. Carolyn and Kenny waste no time running out into the maze of platforms and obstacles, hoping to get the jump on Konstantin. 

Eve does what she’s told, for once. She remains and guards the base. From what, she doesn’t know. It isn’t like capture the flag; there’s nothing to actually protect. She’s certain Carolyn only gave her this job to keep her out of the way of the action, but Eve has no problem with that. She sits down on one of the bales of hay and taps her paintball gun against her knee, squinting up at the sunny sky.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

Villanelle has appeared seemingly from nowhere, leaning against one of the flimsy plywood walls of the “base”. Somehow, even in a shapeless canvas jumpsuit, with her hair pulled back into a utilitarian braid, and giant plastic goggles on her face, she’s still stunning in the midday sunlight. Smug. Smirking. Biting her lip.

“Are you gonna shoot me or what?”

“It’s no fun to shoot a defenseless creature.” Villanelle sighs dramatically and sits on the bale of hay next to Eve.

“Ha ha. You know, Carolyn and Kenny are going after your dad right now. Maybe you want to go help him.”

“He can take care of himself.” Villanelle scoots in closer to Eve. “You, on the other hand…”

“Are you just distracting me so you can shoot me?”

“Of course not!” Villanelle kisses Eve, and that’s it. Eve melts into it, much as she can while their plastic goggles knock together. Perhaps she should feel ashamed, or at least worried, at doing this so near to the rest of the family, but her only thought in that moment is a weak justification: _I was told to distract her, wasn’t I?_

Then, Eve feels a blow to her back, and whirls her head around to see Irina disappearing behind a corner. 

“I was distracting you so _she_ could shoot you.”

“Fuck off.” Eve reaches for her own gun, but Villanelle has already swiped it.

“All’s fair in love and war.” Villanelle laughs as she tosses Eve’s gun up in the air, where it’s snatched by a waiting Irina, who scampered up on top of the structure on the other side of the platforms.

The two sisters laugh in unison. Eve is fuming, trying to come up with some retort to salvage her pride, but then, _pew-pew_ – twin splotches of blue paint appear on Irina and Villanelle’s jumpsuits.

Eve looks behind her once again, and sees Kenny standing proudly, with a gun that would be smoking if it was of the sort that used smoke at all.

“Knew you couldn’t stay away from Eve for long.” Kenny allows himself a rare smile of pride.

“Ha!” Eve points at Villanelle triumphantly, as if she was in on the plan all along. “Now Konstantin is outnumbered!”

Villanelle shrugs, unaffected. “He’ll still win.”

Sure enough, he does.

Carolyn isn’t too happy about it, either. As they clean themselves up and turn in the paintball equipment, she rants the entire time.

“If you had simply followed through on the plan…”

“He had his gun to your head, Mum,” Kenny protests.

“Were this a true combat scenario, I should hope you’d follow orders rather than drop your weapon like a yellow-bellied collaborator.” Carolyn slams her goggles down on the counter. “When I was with MI6, I had agents stripped of their titles for less.”

“In my defense,” Kenny says. “I thought the referee might take my side.” He glares at Elena.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Elena shakes her head. “The Bachelor won this one fair and square.”

Carolyn fusses angrily with her buttons as she dons her jacket again.

“It’s only a game,” Kenny says. “Nothing real to lose.”

“Pride is very much real, Kenny.”

“You’ll get a chance to win it back tomorrow.” Kenny shoots a wink to Eve. 

* * *

After paintball, Eve cleans herself up as well as she can, then drives out to the suburbs: Hugo is showing her another property.

The house is a two-story colonial, and has a large front porch outfitted with a good old-fashioned porch swing. The red paint on the walls peels, and a large hemlock tree reaches wildly in front of the windows.

Hugo runs down the bullet-points of interest. “Needs a bit of sprucing, but don’t judge it on its exterior condition. The bones are in great shape. The run-down bit is actually what makes it remotely affordable, since you can’t beat the location. Five minutes to get onto I-90. Easy access to the Green Line to get back into the city. Walkable to plenty of restaurants, shops, two churches, and three synagogues – you’ve got options.”

But Eve is less concerned about the location and more about the actual road the house lies upon. She looks out at the area of Commonwealth Avenue in front of her, rather unassuming on first glance, a simple residential stretch. It isn’t until she spots a faded numeral 20 painted in yellow on the asphalt, that she makes the connection. She sees the street blocked off by fences, full of runners. Hears the cheering crowd once again.

“It’s perfect.”

“Don’t you want to go inside?” Hugo beckons.

“Uh, sure.”

Hugo shows her both floors of the house; the small kitchen, the cozy den, the three bedrooms, and the unfinished basement. Eve needs little convincing, for her heart already said yes before she walked in the door.

“So? Does it pique your interest?”

“Definitely.” 

“Then I’ll put in an offer for you.”

“Soon,” Eve says. “But not yet. I need to check something first.”

Hugo gives a knowing nod. “Got to run it by the girlfriend?”

“The fiancée.” Eve reaches into her shirt and pulls out her engagement ring. She has it on a chain as a necklace, since she can’t very well wear a fresh diamond ring on her finger and advertise her secret engagement to the world.

“Congratulations.” Hugo’s eyes widen. “I’ll wait on your call, then. But my advice is to figure it out soon as you can. Properties as well situated as this don’t stay on the market for long.”

* * *

Perhaps if Eve paid closer attention to the details, so she would’ve had more information to offer when Villanelle questions her on the details over dinner that evening.

“It was really good,” Eve mumbled around a bite of Szechuan tofu.

“Just good?”

“Perfect, actually.”

“High praise.” Villanelle says, as she fishes out the last spring roll, polishing off their feast of takeout.

Eve grabs the empty container and tosses it in the garbage. “I think I’m going to make an offer.”

“Where is it?”

“Commonwealth Ave.”

“How much?”

“Really good deal for the location.”

“And you’re going to move in right away?”

“Well, that is kind of the point of having a house.” Eve points over to the pile of cardboard boxes up against the wall. “See, it’s good that I hardly unpacked anything. You should probably start packing yours…”

“That’s it?” Villanelle says. “I am supposed to move all my stuff into this house you liked?”

Eve is taken aback. “You’d like it, too. I’m sure. But you can come see it if you want, before I make an offer.”

“Or else what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then I’ll ask Hugo for more options.”

“What if I don’t want a house?”

“What would you prefer, an RV?”

“You have just decided this for both of us.”

“Um, no,” Eve says. “I want to buy a house because I want one. I just figured it was common courtesy to invite my fiancée to room with me.”

“I like my apartment.”

“Your sublet is almost up.”

“I might like another.”

“What is this really about?” Eve demands. “We’re already living together, and this would be the same thing, but with more space.”

“A house is really big, that’s all.”

“Big?”

“Heavy.”

Something clicks for Eve. “Too heavy to pack up and run away.”

Villanelle says nothing.

“What did you think getting married means?” Eve asks, trying her best to keep her voice low and calm. “Did you think you’re just going to go back to Paris after the wedding?”

“I don’t know.”

It makes perfect sense, Eve realizes. Villanelle lives in the moment. As always.

Despite Eve’s best efforts, irritation creeps into her voice as she says, “You need to figure it out. ‘Cause marriage is a commitment that goes out pretty far.”

Villanelle turns and stalks off into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Eve clutches at her ring on its chain underneath her shirt. This was very, very fast. All of it. Hasty. The haste is what she loves about Villanelle, so much that she tried to emulate it… 

Eve’s cheeks grow hot. _I really proposed on the spur of the moment. What was I thinking? That’s the prelude to a lot of divorces._

Her heart starts to pound. The ring feels like it weighs a hundred pounds around her neck. Her chest tightens at the memory of writing a note to Niko, leaving her last ring on the nightstand.

Every one of Eve’s instincts screams at her to leave. To go out to a bar and “blow off some steam”. Drink too much and probably end up on Bill’s couch that night, ranting about Villanelle’s immaturity.

But that isn’t the smart choice. The mature choice. The thinking-ahead choice.

Eve heaves herself up from the couch and goes to knock on the bedroom door.

“Hey,” she says. “Is it alright if I come to bed?”

A grunt. She opens the door, but the light’s already off. Villanelle is curled up in a little ball under the covers. Eve changes in the dark and climbs onto her side of the bed.

* * *

In the morning, Villanelle is up before Eve – a rare occurrence – and already brewing coffee when Eve comes into the kitchen.

“Are you angry?” she says as she hands Eve the first pour.

“Are you?” Eve says.

“I’m not sure.” Villanelle pours herself a mug and takes a sip without even waiting for it to cool. “But it seems like one of those things we are ‘supposed’ to talk about.”

“I don’t think so,” Eve says. “Actually, I think this is what the three days is for.”

“For fighting?”

“Thinking,” Eve says. “It’s important to think before jumping into this, and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts knows that. That’s why they make a waiting period. You take the next two days and you think. And I’ll do the same. Maybe by then we’ll know if we’re angry.”

“Okay,” Villanelle says.

And that’s that.

They don’t talk much on the way to Carolyn’s party. Eve puts the address into the GPS and lets the automated voice tell Villanelle where to go – since she insisted on keeping yesterday’s event a secret, Eve figures it’s only fair to do the same.

The silence is tense but not uncomfortable. It’s better that they said what they said last night, rather than ignoring it. Isn’t it? Having uncomfortable conversations is more mature than shoving it down until the issue bubbles up later on in a heated battle – especially if that comes after they’re legally bound to one another. 

Or so Eve hopes.

“What is this place?” Villanelle asks as the GPS tells them they’ve reached their destination: a rather unassuming gray stone building.

“You’ll see.” 

Once Eve says their party name at the check-in desk, and they step onto the gym floor, Villanelle gasps with delight. “And you said paintball was silly!”

“Carolyn loves fencing.”

There are a few other groups already battling with foil and epee around the gym, but Eve and Kenny made sure they’d have an area specially reserved for the afternoon.

Once everyone is set up with rental equipment (except Carolyn, who is delighted to don her own personal suit and foil that she uses here weekly), they settle in on the bleachers against one wall, near a table of iced lemonade and other light refreshments.

“Behold,” Eve says. “The tournament.”

She and Kenny explain the bracket they prepared for the other six members of the family to battle it out, one pair at a time, while Carolyn sits and judges. The winner of said tournament will earn the right to challenge her, the fencing Queen.

The random drawing pulls Kenny versus Irina as the first matchup, so Eve sits down to watch.

“What’s new?” Carolyn says. Eve is surprised that she’d try to make small talk, given that they never really smoothed things over after their fight several weeks ago, and also because Carolyn despises small talk under the best of circumstances. But maybe she’s in a good mood because she likes the party, and damn if Eve should look this gift horse in the mouth.

“Nothing much,” Eve says. Nothing Carolyn would like to hear, anyway. Eve internally laughs at the thought of telling her mother about quitting her job, or applying for a license to marry Villanelle. 

“There must be something.”

“Um, well,” Eve says. “Hugo showed me a house yesterday, and it was really nice, and I might put an offer in.” She braces herself for the inevitable slew of criticism about the house, but it doesn’t come.

“Hugo?” That name is what Carolyn chooses to focus on. “I hadn’t realized you’re still in contact with him.”

“Yeah, he’s been showing me properties.”

“If you’re on good terms, I must send him an invitation to the wedding. I had thought it might be uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m totally comfortable,” Eve says quickly.

“I meant for the rest of us.” Carolyn takes a sip of her lemonade. “But it’s settled, I’ll send him one tonight. I can only hope he isn’t offended at the last minute invitation.”

Despite Eve’s best efforts, she has to roll her eyes just a little. “I think he’ll be fine.”

Eve turns her attention back to the floor, where Irina is putting up a valiant fight, but Kenny’s experience and longer reach net him the victory. Irina stomps back to the stands, while Kenny calls up the next match: Konstantin versus Elena.

Neither of them are very experienced with fencing, so a rather goofy match ensues. They smack around wildly for a few minutes, and by the end, neither is aware who won until Carolyn announces, by her eagle-eyed tally of points, that Elena won narrowly.

Then, the last pairing of the first round: Eve and Villanelle. When they drew the matchups, it was hard for Eve not to react to this pairing, but with only six participants it was pretty likely she’d end up against Villanelle at some point or another, and any strange reaction to it would only draw extra attention. 

While they both clamber down onto opposite ends of the strip, Villanelle flashes a wicked grin before donning her face mask. Eve knows what that grin means. It means, _remember how I kicked your ass with paintball yesterday?_

Suddenly, Eve’s excited to get a shot at Villanelle with a sword.

“ _En garde,_ ” Villanelle says, bending her knees and extending the foil in front of her.

Eve complies and crosses her foil with Villanelle’s. Before she can blink, Villanelle advances, stabbing and whipping her sword wildly. Eve retreats quickly, dodging the onslaught.

“This is no fun,” Villanelle taunts Eve as she pushes her further and further back. “You aren’t even trying.”

“You’re right,” Eve shouts through her mask. “I’m not.” The thirty seconds she had allowed Villanelle to lead the way had confirmed her suspicion that Villanelle had never touched a foil, epee, nor sabre before, so Eve is able to take back control of the match with confidence. Five summers at fencing camp, though many years had passed since, provided her with the skills to easily parry, jab, and force Villanelle back the distance she’d come, and then some.

By the time she forces Villanelle to the end of the area, Eve has racked up eight points by her own count, and a ninth stab makes Villanelle stumble backwards and land on her ass. It isn’t often that Eve gets the better of Villanelle like this, so to add insult to injury, with a few fancy swishes of the tip of her foil, she disarms Villanelle, knocking her weapon to the floor. She wishes she could see Villanelle’s face, but imagining her barely contained fury is almost better.

Eve is about to gloat when her feet disappear from under her, kicked from beneath her, causing her to drop her sword and land flat on her back. She looks up to Villanelle standing above, pointing the tips of both foils at her chest.

“That’s against the rules,” Eve protests.

“I hate rules,” Villanelle replies.

“Regardless, rules bear great importance in this sport,” Carolyn says, with barely restrained amusement. “Eve is the winner.”

The plan for the semifinals of the tournament was to compete round-robin and take the best of the three remaining, but Elena voluntarily taps out. “I’d best save us all some time, since you two actually know how fencing works and I don’t.” 

So, Eve finds herself called up once again to face off with her brother.

“She’s having fun, right?” Eve says, as they cross their swords to prepare. “Even if it’s at my expense.”

“She is,” Kenny says. “This was a brilliant idea.”

“Please, if she asks, you take credit for it. If she knows it was my idea, she’ll suddenly hate the whole thing.”

Then they’re off. Since both of them got the same fencing camp treatment, it’s a tough match. They go point-for-point, until they’re both one touch away from victory. Then, Kenny stumbles, and falls right into the path of Eve’s foil.

“There’s the match,” Carolyn says.

“Damn,” Kenny says. “Congrats on your victory.” He takes off his face mask and glove and reaches out to shake Eve’s hand. “Good luck against the master.”

Eve takes his hand, and pulls him close. “Did you take a dive just so I’d have to face her?” 

Kenny simply shrugs and winks.

When Eve came up with this tournament idea, she did not expect to be the poor victim who ended up having to face Carolyn. Dread takes root in her gut, and she tries to compose an excuse to run off. Fake a sprained ankle? The sudden arrival of her period? But there’s no backing down now, as Carolyn climbs down onto the floor and dons her own face mask.

“ _En garde,_ ” Carolyn says. Eve assumes the proper stance. She’s been doing her best thus far, but she has fought two matches already and she’s winded. Not to mention, Eve’s last training was fencing camp when she was seventeen, whereas Carolyn practices weekly. A bona-fide master. Eve has a snowball’s chance in Hell of winning this match. Yet, she’s determined to try her absolute best.

Carolyn leads at first, and easily racks up several points in a row. Eve is tired, and slow, but once she warms up to Carolyn’s style, she’s able to score a couple hits in return.

“Good show,” Carolyn says after Eve parries one of her lunges and manages to stab Carolyn back in the shoulder.

But her success does not continue into the next sequence. Eve tries to dodge and ducks into the blade by accident, so that the side of Carolyn’s foil whips her in the face. If not for the face mask, it would’ve been gnarly. Carolyn lowers her sword, as any hit outside the target area stops the action. Carolyn assumes the starting stance once again, but Eve drops her foil.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, I got a nosebleed.” Eve says.

“We’ll pause the match then,” Carolyn says.

“No,” Eve replies. “I concede. You’ve won this, you’re the master.” Before Carolyn can even consider protesting, Eve runs off in the direction of the bathroom.

Once she’s alone, she pulls off her face mask and stares in the mirror. Her nose isn’t bleeding. She has a light sheen of sweat from the exertion, but otherwise she’s fine. 

Everything’s going so well.

And yet. Nothing feels right. There’s something tangled up inside her, and Eve can’t begin to figure out how to unknot it. All along she’s known this; it’s something she regularly invests most of her energy in denying, but that knot inside has spent thirty-seven years getting as tangled as can be, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that a ring on her finger (or, well, her necklace) and a new job prospect would undo it in one go.

The door to the bathroom squeaks open, then shut. Eve exhales into the mirror. “I knew you’d come after me, but really, I’m okay – go be with the family.”

“Forgive me for wanting to confirm your status firsthand.”

Eve stiffens. That’s not Villanelle’s voice. She slowly turns around to see her mother standing by the bathroom door. 

Carolyn has removed her face mask and gloves, with her hands clasped in the slightest awkward position in front of her. “Your nose seems to be fine.”

“Yeah, um, the bleeding stopped,” Eve says halfheartedly, while Carolyn’s piercing gaze sweeps over the scene. It doesn’t take a federal investigator to notice the lack of mess on Eve’s smock, or the sink, or even the lack of used tissues in the bin.

But Carolyn doesn’t call out the lie, she only nods slightly. “That inspires confidence.”

Eve shifts side to side, then turns back to the sink, turns on the faucet, and splashes some water on her face.

“This was a wonderful idea Kenny had. Quite an enjoyable afternoon,” Carolyn says, then, adds, “Except for the parts where you were injured.”

Eve picks her head up and stares at Carolyn’s reflection in the mirror. “I need to tell you something.” She swallows. “I quit my job.”

“Was there a conflict with your superiors?” Carolyn doesn’t add the final word Eve knows she is thinking: _“again?”_.

“A new opportunity presented itself,” Eve says. “I’m applying to a position at the FBI field office. Special consultant.”

Carolyn changes the position her hands are clasped. Left over right becomes right over left.

“Don’t you have anything to say about that?” Eve presses.

“Should I?” Carolyn asks.

Eve turns again, and sighs. “You laughed at me for reading _The Da Vinci Code_. You wouldn’t bring me on ‘Take Your Daughter to Work Day’ or do career day at my school… Even when I declared my Criminology minor, you suggested I add Economics instead. Basically everything you ever did made it very clear that investigation and intelligence were only for you, and not for me.”

“That was not my intention.” Carolyn purses her lips, taking a while to respond. “I take great pride in my career, Eve. I have an unmatched determination and focus that makes me very, very good at what I do. However, at times, being good at my career made it very difficult to be good with the family.”

Eve’s not sure she’s hearing correctly. It sounded like Carolyn almost, kind of, maybe admitted to some fault. “Could you say that again?”

“It’s a wonderful beast, this career,” Carolyn says. “Intoxicating. It did not surprise me that you, too, felt its pull, but I hoped that with encouragement, you might find similar draw from another field. Any other field. So that you might not feel torn in opposite directions as I felt.”

Eve doesn’t know what to say. So she says nothing.

“But perhaps that won’t be an issue for you.”

Carolyn says it with the cadence of kindness, and Eve thinks she really does mean it in a hopeful way. She really does mean that perhaps it’s best that Eve could die alone, dedicated only to her career. And in a sad way, it’s one of the nicest things her mother has ever said to her.

Carolyn picks up Eve’s face mask from the floor, and opens the door. “If you’re sure the bleeding has stopped, you might as well come back out. I do believe there are biscuits to be served; Kenny thinks of everything.”

“One more thing,” Eve says. “This, today, was my idea. Not Kenny’s. All mine.”

Carolyn nods. “It was inspired. Thank you, Eve.”

* * *

  
Eve and Kenny stay late to clean up the refreshments, and exchange a hug over a job well done with the party. 

“Feeling better?” Kenny asks.

“I think so,” Eve says. 

“After all this time.” Kenny shakes his head. “Wish I’d known all you and Mum needed to was to have a go at each other with swords, to solve all your issues.”

“Not quite,” Eve says. “But it was a start.” Her insides are still tangled, but it feels like the knot might be loosening, just a bit. Which means, it’s the perfect time to press forward, to make a move. She pulls out her phone.

“Hugo? I’d like to put in an offer on that house. Comm Ave. The amount we talked about.”

“Eve, wonderful to hear from you,” Hugo says. “Any chance you’re free to come down to see the house again?”

“Is that necessary?”

“There’s been another offer.”

* * *

Kenny is the best brother Eve could ask for. After he drops Eve on the sidewalk of Commonwealth Ave, he turns off the engine. “Want me to stick around?”

“That’s alright, I can Uber back,” Eve says. However, if she’s about to get into a bidding war on this house, it’s quite possible she won’t be able to afford one. She may end up taking the Green Line, since as Hugo boasted the last time she was here, it’s not far.

But first, she needs to find out who is the asshole trying to steal her house and how much money they had.

Hugo’s waiting on the porch as Eve stomps up the steps. 

“How much?” Eve says. “I’ll beat it.”

“Hold your horses,” Hugo says. “Come inside for a minute and talk.”

Eve is furious. Maybe she’s never bought a house before, but this seems like it’s not the way it’s meant to be handled. Nevertheless, as Hugo opens the door, she marches into the front hall of the house.

Where Villanelle is standing, hands in her pockets, in front of the staircase.

“What are you…?”

“This is a pretty nice place,” Villanelle comments, looking around. “And the location. Wow.”

Eve rolls her eyes. “Convenient, yeah.”

“I really think that street view is phenomenal.”

Eve’s breath catches. Villanelle remembers, too. She understands the significance of this house, that looks out on the exact spot where she and Eve first admitted they love each other.

“So you’re bidding against me?”

Villanelle takes Eve’s face in her hands. “I’m bidding on us.” She reaches into her shirt and pulls out her own ring – Eve’s ring. The freshly polished, light blue stone twinkles in the light. 

Eve can’t help but smile. “I love you, but you know I want to buy this house myself, right?”

“Of course, I know you that well by now,” Villanelle scoffs. “Hugo, please tell us, how much was the other offer?”

Hugo looks down at a file he’s holding. “Nine dollars and six cents.”

Eve looks at Villanelle, confused at the specificity of the amount.

Villanelle puts on a hurt look, as if it needs no explanation. “That was the first time you wouldn’t let me pay for something.”

Eve wracks her brain for that number, but it’s Villanelle’s coy smirk that brings the memory rushing back. “The ice cream.”

“If you think about it, that was kind of our first date.”

“I guess it was.” Eve throws her arms around Villanelle’s neck and pulls her close. “I should’ve kissed you then.”

They press their lips together, and Eve swears she can taste the ice cream again.

“I think we’re even now,” Eve murmurs into Villanelle’s mouth.

“Good,” Villanelle says. “Because the truth is, I can’t afford a house right now. I’m saving my money from now on.”

“For what, a yacht?”

“For the future,” Villanelle says. “Heard that’s important.”

Eve signs the papers. Hugo thanks her and promises to call once it’s official. The house isn’t hers, yet, so technically, they are trespassing as they sit on the porch swing after Hugo drives off. Villanelle extends her legs, moving the swing back and forth at a gentle rock.

“So no more living in the moment?” Eve asks.

“Never say never,” Villanelle says, leaning her head onto Eve’s shoulder. “But recently, the future started to look a lot more appealing.” She sighs in pure contentment. “Especially if we got a yacht…” 

Eve snorts. A few minutes of silence, but this time, it’s not tense like before. “I know the three days aren’t up yet,” Eve begins. “But I did some thinking.”

“Me too.” Villanelle nods thoughtfully, then nudges Eve with her knee. “You go first.”

“I think that tomorrow, I want to go pick up our license, then schedule an appointment at a courthouse so that I can marry you.”

“That’s so crazy,” Villanelle says. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Weird.”

“Totally.”

They interlace their fingers and watch the sun set on Heartbreak Hill. It feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back from vacation n better than ever (I hope?)
> 
> OG fans of the imunbreakabledude fic canon should recognize something _familiar_ in this chapter...
> 
> by the way if you want more of this fic (like, say, some of Villanelle's perspective)... check out my pinned posts on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) for some special bonus content xo


	22. Sweet Caroline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle tie up some loose ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're hitting that final stretch AAAAAAAHHHH

_“Where it began, I can’t begin to know when, but then I know it’s growin’ strong._  
_Wasn’t the spring, and spring became the summer. Who’d’ve believed you’d come along?”_  
—Neil Diamond

* * *

Tomorrow is June second.

Eve has spent the past three-and-a-half months counting down to June third. Who could’ve predicted that in the end, June second would end up being a much more important date than the other one that has been permanently emblazoned into her mind…

June second is her interview at the FBI field office.

June second is also her wedding date.

So much for her accusations to her mother of rushing into marriage too quickly.

But tonight, it’s June first.

June first is also a special day, since Eve closed on her very own house. She and Villanelle drove over to the house that afternoon to ceremoniously walk through the property she now legally owns, but came back to Villanelle’s apartment since all their stuff is still there, and, of course, they can’t make a big show of moving in together at the moment.

June first. Last chance to run before the gauntlet that awaits her tomorrow.

Eve has a slight case of the nerves.

It’s funny, because she has prepared for this interview as much as humanly possible. She broke out all her old criminology books, read up on relevant consumer fraud laws and other representative cases based on the limited information Bill had been allowed to give her on the case she was being interviewed to help with, and even spent ten minutes psyching herself up in in the mirror while power posing like Wonder Woman with her hands on her hips. ( _Shut up_ , she said when Villanelle caught her and snickered – _it’s scientifically proven to increase confidence and perceived ability. They did a study about it._ )

She is as ready as ready can be. And yet. Butterflies.

Eve needs a distraction from imagining every way she can possibly screw up this interview, so she curls up on the couch, and pulls out a legal pad already filled with messy scribbles.

“How is it going?”

Villanelle appears by Eve’s side. Eve lets out a yelp and flips the pad over. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Villanelle hands Eve a mug of tea. “What are you writing there?”

“Go away! It’s private!”

Villanelle stares for a few seconds, then shakes her head and stalks off to the bedroom, giving Eve her space.

Once the coast is clear, Eve flips over the pad again and smooths out the crumped top page. She takes a sip of the tea and burns her mouth a bit. She scrunches up her mouth, scratches out one line on the page, and taps her pen to her chin as she tries to figure out how to replace it. At this point, there are more words crossed out than not.

This is a stupid idea, isn’t it? Sure, when Eve asked Villanelle if they should write their own vows, Villanelle agreed, but something like _this?_ It’s not her. Villanelle will loathe it. Worse: she will mock it mercilessly.

Eve tears off the sheet and crumples it into a ball. 

But Villanelle always comes through with big romantic gestures, so Eve has to give these vows her all. She comforts herself in knowing that no matter what she does, Villanelle will surely top it. She’ll probably deliver her vows in skywriting…

Eve unfurls the paper, and sets to work again.

It’s hard work, but at least it takes her mind off the interview. When Eve finally pens the final word, and takes the last sip of her tepid tea, it’s past eleven o’clock. 

She puts the mug in the sink, turns off the lights, and heads back into the bedroom.

“Finally,” Villanelle says.

Eve takes the wrinkled sheet of paper and tucks it away into her shoes for tomorrow so she won’t forget it. “Did you miss me?”

“Always.” 

Eve pulls off her clothes and changes into her sleep ensemble – a loose gray tank top and flannel shorts. “I suppose I should prepare myself for the possibility of more late nights in the future.”

“I can’t believe tomorrow, I will be married to an FBI agent.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a done deal. You’re gonna jinx it. And even if I do get the job, I won’t be an agent, I’ll be a special consultant with no job security, and the lowest level security clearance…”

“Go on with that sexy FBI jargon, Agent Martens.”

“Please, Agent Martens is my mother,” Eve says as she climbs onto the bed beside Villanelle. “Call me Agent Martens-Vasileva.”

“That reminds me. I have a wedding present for you.”

Villanelle springs up off the bed and darts over to the dresser. She pulls out a shirt, then holds it up for Eve to read.

It’s a black t-shirt with bold white text: “FBI”, then below, in smaller print: “Female Body Inspector.”

Villanelle waggles her eyebrows. Eve is not amused.

“First off, it’s a little early for wedding presents,” Eve says. “Second of all, we’re supposed to get each other wedding presents?”  
  
“First of all, it isn’t for you, silly. Second of all, call this our bachelorette party. Which means, stripping is mandatory.” Villanelle unbuttons her pajamas and tosses the silk top across the room.

Though Eve’s too tired to sit up, she lets out a holler of approval, while Villanelle kicks off her pajama pants as well, revealing her red lace underwear.

Then, Villanelle pulls on the t-shirt, which ironically enough, makes her body accessible to inspection, tight enough that her nipples show through. Next, she reaches up and ties her hair into a high ponytail, getting it out her face. She means business.

Villanelle crawls over the bed on her hands and knees, and puts on a rough southern U.S. accent. “Listen here, ma’am, I’ve got a job to do, and it’ll be easier for everyone if you cooperate. I need to inspect this here hot body and make sure everything is in order.”

She leans over Eve’s supine body and sniffs at her. Eve squeezes her eyes shut while Villanelle pinches her cheeks, then boops her nose. “Face, check.”

She grasps Eve’s left breast and gives it a honk, then does the same to the right. “Bazoingas. Check and check.”

Villanelle pulls up the hem of Eve’s tank top, revealing her stomach. “Adorable tummy. Check.” She bends down and blows a raspberry right on Eve’s belly button. It tickles.

“Let’s take a look down here.” Villanelle pulls at the waistband of Eve’s shorts, then lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Well, I’ve inspected a lot of bodies in my day, but this is a marvel of the likes I’ve never seen.”

“Okay,” Eve laughs. “Good bit, but I really need to go to bed. I want to get a good night’s sleep before the interview.”

“Come on.” Villanelle drops the accent. “Just a few minutes? You don’t even have to do anything. Just sit back and relax.” Villanelle holds Eve’s waistband stretched out and shoots her a puppy-dog look.

“Alright, fine. Go nuts.”

* * *

Friday morning is rather average as mornings go. Eve sleeps in a bit. Aside from Villanelle screaming the first time Eve comes into the kitchen that “You’re not supposed to see me on our wedding day!” Then she gives Eve a peck on the cheek and returns to the pan of eggs sizzling on the stove.

“You can cook?”

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“It’s a good quality in a woman. I'm really getting my money's worth with you.”

They eat breakfast, and they each do some work and preparation for the rest of the morning. Eve left her car parked at the new house yesterday, so Villanelle drops Eve off at her one o’clock interview at the FBI field office.

“Want me to come pick you up after?”

“No, I should have plenty of time, so I was gonna swing by the apartment anyway to change. And you need to pick up Irina. I’ll meet you at the courthouse.”

“Four-thirty. Don’t forget.”

They’d gotten the last slot of the whole week, end of day on Friday. The very last possible slot before their parents’ wedding. It seemed an auspicious sign that it was available. 

Eve rolls her eyes. “Four-thirty. I know.” She kisses Villanelle goodbye. “I need to get in there, so–”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Good luck.”

* * *

Eve’s not good at everything. She’s only a passable cook, she’s pretty uncomfortable on the dance floor unless she’s incredibly drunk, and, as she learned last week, not the best at paintball.

But Eve is really fucking good at interviewing.

Her preparation does not let her down, and though the two buttoned-up officials who did her interview don’t tell her the job is hers, Eve is pretty sure from the cadence of their whispers as they confer that they really like her. She tries to maintain a professional composure, but on the inside, she’s Wonder-Woman-posing in triumph.

They finish their hushed conference, and ask Eve to wait for a moment as they leave the room. A few minutes later, they reappear. “Ms. Martens, we’re impressed by what you have to offer. We’re interested in making you a finalist for this position.”

“Thank you.” Eve works very hard to end that sentence with a period rather than a dozen exclamation points.

“Do you have time to stay for the next phase?”

“Today?” Eve is taken aback. “That depends. What’s the next phase?”

“A polygraph interview. Just some basic questions. For us to make sure you’re not a foreign asset.”

Eve looks at her watch. “How long does it take?”

“Twenty minutes or so. Unless you have something to hide.”

* * *

“Hello there.” A man with a worn, yet genial, face and a shaved head beckons for Eve to take a seat at a table that takes up most of the small room. “My name is Max, and I will be conducting the next portion of your screening.”

A younger attendant comes over and hooks her up to the system, with several sensors around Eve’s chest, a blood pressure cuff around her arm, and a couple more attached to the pads of her fingers. 

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Eve shimmies and pulls at one of the straps around her chest.

“Get those white lies out of your system now.” The attendant winks, then goes to sit by a computer monitor to the side of the room, which will monitor Eve’s vital signals and inform him if she is lying.

Max pulls up a chair and sits across from Eve. He rolls up his sleeves, and folds his hands on top of the table. “Please state your name for the record.”

“Eve Martens.”

“What is your date of birth?”

“March 27, 1983.”

“Do me a favor, and answer this before we really get into it, Eve.” Max leans forward. “Be honest. Are you hiding anything?”

“Uh, I guess, yeah. But isn’t everyone hiding something?” Eve jokes.

Max shows his teeth, but the grin doesn’t reach his eyes.

Eve glances over to the computer screen reading her results. It’s all a bunch of wiggly lines to her, but she looks for any changes. Any beeping or red flashing lights that might indicate she’s failing. Then she glances at the clock on the wall. 

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“Not for a bit.”

“Good.”

Max grills Eve on her upbringing, her schooling, her hobbies, and her past relationships. Basic bio stuff that Eve supposes could be for the purpose of probing any conflicting loyalties she might have, but occasionally he zooms in on a seemingly insignificant detail. For example, he has about a dozen follow-up questions about Eve’s time on her high school lacrosse team. Who suggested it to her? What position did she play? Did she make the team her first tryout? Did she ever sustain any injuries? How much did her first stick cost? How many goals did she score? And so on.

As Eve finishes detailing how the mean team captain, Sasha Rackford, made her cry on the bus ride home from the game against Ursuline, she sneaks a glance at the clock. Max notices.

“Are you in a hurry to be done here, Eve?”

“Um,” Eve says. “It’s just that after this I have to get all the way over to Kenmore Square.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m supposed to, uh. Get married.”

Max looks suspiciously at the computer screen, then back at Eve. “Let’s talk more about your wedding.”

Eve swallows. “Of course.”

“Tell me about your spouse.”

As prompted, Eve rattles off Villanelle’s name, birth date, occupation, bra size… no, that wasn’t actually one of the questions, but Max seems to ask about everything but lingerie. He demands explanation of every detail, not only Villanelle herself: he grills Eve on when they met, how they’ve interacted, and their plans for the future.

Finally, he pauses his endless stream of questions, and considers for a moment. “So you’re marrying this Russian woman to get her citizenship?”

“Of course not. It’s not some stupid romcom.”

“But you only met three months ago?”

“Yes.”

“And you decided to buy a house together, and get married spontaneously, at four-thirty on a Friday.”

Eve feels sweat starting to bloom under her arms. “Can I ask why this is relevant?”

“If we hire you, we’re giving you a certain level of clearance. We have to make sure that you, nor any of your close associates, might pose a risk to national security, and a spouse is a very, very close contact. It’s my job to be thorough, and to be perfectly frank, it seems like there’s something unusual going on there. Something suspicious.”

“Jesus Christ!” Eve snaps. “It’s nothing shady, I just went to the club because I was depressed about my mother getting married while I was still single, and hooked up with this incredible stranger, and it turned out she was the daughter of my mom’s fiancée, so it was weird between us, but we couldn’t deny the attraction, so we started a meaningless sexual relationship, but then it turned into feelings, and the feelings turned mutual, and we realized we were both in love and the only way to save it was to get married and make it official before our parents get married _tomorrow_.”

Max stares, mouth agape. For once, he has no questions.

“She’s telling the truth,” the attendant says, pointing to the wiggly lines on the screen.

“So,” Max says, “You have to leave in a few minutes to go marry your stepsister?”

“She’s _not_ my stepsister!”

“Still the truth,” the attendant says. “Technically.”

* * *

Eve passed.

No lies caught on her readout, and she’s deemed not a threat to national security, even if she received a bit more judgment on a personal level than she would’ve liked.

But now she’s late. Very late.

It’s 4:25 when she gets into her Uber and tells the driver to take her to Kenmore Square. She doesn’t pull her eyes off the clock for the entire ride. This is bad. She thought she’d have time to go back to the apartment and change into something nicer, but now it looks like she’s stuck with what she’s got. At least her interview outfit is classy, with a navy blazer over a white silk shirt. Villanelle will forgive her, so long as it’s not a turtleneck. 

As they approach their destination, Eve allows herself some shallow breaths. She’s a few minutes late, but when she explains why, Villanelle will be so happy about the job that she’ll forget to be mad about the tardiness. 

Eve’s jolted out of her thoughts by the driver laying on the horn. They’re backed up in a long line of traffic, and Eve cranes her neck to try to see what it is. She finally sees a the source of the delay: the road is blocked off thanks to a building being demolished. A worker in a high-vis orange vest directs cars around the block, but there’s a huge bottleneck, with lots of cars honking. They’re only a quarter mile from the courthouse, but it could take another ten minutes to get through this traffic jam.

“Let me out here,” Eve says to the driver. “I’ll walk the rest of the way, thank you.”

She grabs her bag and leaps out onto the sidewalk, going as fast as she can. As she rounds the corner, she slams into something and feels a splash all over her. 

Turns out, the something she ran into was a large man in a Red Sox jersey, presumably on his way to Fenway Park to watch the game, and the splash was from a large souvenir cup in his hands, the contents of which are now all over him and Eve.

Eve pulls the soaked fabric of her shirt away from her torso with disgust. “Watch where you’re going, dickswab!”

“You bumped into me, asshole!” the man bellows back. “And you ruined my jersey!” 

“You ruined my shirt, too!”

“This is signed by Big Papi!” He points to his back. “You owe me big time. Plus you owe me a beer,” he sputters.

“What is it, two bucks?” Eve contemplates pulling out her wallet and throwing cash at the man just to shut him up.

“Ten.”

“Jesus christ, Fenway.”

“It’s a special enriched microbrew!”

Eve sniffs her shirt. “Smells like Bud Light.”

The man says nothing, which says everything.

He is not worth Eve’s time. On June second, of all days!

Eve runs off down the sidewalk.

“Hey, get back here!”

“Can’t stop. Gotta get married,” Eve gleefully calls out, though she doesn’t care if the man hears or not.

After dodging a few more pedestrians and leaping a few potholes, Eve finally reaches the courthouse. Too late, she realizes she has no idea what chamber she’s supposed to be in, so she pelts down the hallway, looking through each open door, until finally she spots familiar faces.

“Eve?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Where on Earth were you?”

Kenny, Elena, Irina, Bill, and Keiko sit in the gallery, all with varying degrees of concern on their face. Villanelle is up by the stand, next to the Justice of the Peace. She’s dressed in a jaw-dropping yet familiar look: the scoop-neck white sheath dress she bought at Nordstrom after she and Eve fell into the Charles River. It was stunning then, and it’s stunning now – even more so now that it’s seasonally appropriate.

Villanelle’s here in the perfect casual-yet-bridal look, and Eve’s soaked in beer. Despite the rest of her friends’ varying degrees of secondhand embarrassment, Villanelle leans up against the stand, rather unbothered, even a little amused as she greets Eve. “You show up late to our wedding, covered in urine?”

“It’s Bud Light, but I can understand the confusion.” 

“Go out to my car. Quickly. There’s another shirt in there, on the back seat.” Villanelle grabs her keys from her purse and thrusts them at her before Eve can protest.

Eve runs outside to where Villanelle’s car is parked right out front (how does that wonderful idiot always have such good parking karma?). She tosses her wet blazer onto the seat, then groans, because the shirt she finds is not what she would consider appropriate wedding attire. She debates between her options – beer-soaked, or terrible?

Eve ends up walking into her own wedding in the promotional Nike T-shirt with the Sharpie scrawl on the back: “Eve gives ~~head~~ 100% ~~of the time~~ ”.

All of the guests snicker at her outfit, but most have the courtesy to try to hide it, at least.

The justice, at least, remains professional. “I’ve been informed that you two prepared your own vows?”

“I will go first,” Villanelle says. “I wrote nothing.”

“What?” Eve says.

“I didn’t write anything at all, because it’s stupid to think that what I say in this ugly office in front of an ugly judge could represent our entire relationship. I love you. I know that, you know that; he doesn’t have to know it, he just has to follow the script.”

“Vill!”

The justice is unruffled. “I’ll allow it.”

“I don’t want to tell you all the things I will do for you in our life together, Eve, because I don’t want to wait a second longer to do them. Screw the vows, sign the paper.”

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Bill says to himself, though loud enough for them all to hear.

Eve is dumbstruck. She shouldn’t have expected anything less from Villanelle.

“Well, um, maybe I should just skip my thing now.”

“No!” Villanelle cries out.

“If you’re in such a hurry…”

“Do it! I want to hear it.”

“It’s really not important.”

“How many more times do I have to coax you?”

Eve takes a deep breath. “I was trying to think of, ‘what would she hate the most?’ and this is what I came up with.”

Her hands tremble as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the folded paper. She opens the wrinkled yellow surface, covered in coffee stains and ink blots. She takes a deep breath in, readying herself to read the messy pen scrawl.

“When I imagine me and you,   
The notion takes my breath away.  
There’s nothing else that I can do.

In our unsuitable milieu,  
All common sense our hearts betray  
When I imagine me and you.

The fruity scent of your shampoo;  
Your laugh which chases off the gray.  
There’s nothing else that I can do.

For each convention we eschew,  
Our love shall never fall cliché  
When I imagine me and you.

Thus, I no longer fear taboo  
As we approach our wedding day  
There’s nothing else that I can do.

No choice remains but see it through.  
No more refrains are left to say.  
When I imagine me and you,  
There’s nothing else that I can do.”

Eve lowers the paper, and chances her first look at Villanelle’s face. “It’s, um, you know, it’s a–“

“I got it.” Villanelle’s eyes grow shiny and wet. “That was so stupid.”

“Uh-huh.”

A single tear rolls down Villanelle’s cheek and she lets out a croak, “I hate it.”

The justice clears his throat, and Eve notices him glancing at the clock as it creeps towards five. “Would you like to exchange rings?”

Villanelle sniffs, and instantly blinks away her tears. She pulls out the wave-etched diamond ring and slips it onto Eve’s hand. Eve takes her old aquamarine ring that she wore for almost twenty years, and says her final goodbye, slipping it onto Villanelle’s finger. They lower their hands, but Villanelle keeps her fingers entwined with Eve’s by their side as the justice leads them through the final set of vows.

“Do you, Eve Martens, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Villanelle Konstantinovna Vasilieva, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you wife and wife.”

Eve wrinkles her nose. “That sounds a bit silly, doesn’t it? Wife and–“

“Shut your mouth so we can kiss already.”

They do.

Bill and Keiko let out an _aww_ in unison. As the kiss goes on for several seconds, someone lets out a wolf whistle (Eve suspects Elena). Irina makes a gagging sound.

They finally pull away from each other, and Eve looks her wife in the eyes.

She could stand there forever, living in Villanelle’s eyes endlessly, if not for the justice climbing off the stand and clearing his throat.

“It’s five o’clock, ladies. Congratulations are due, but celebrate somewhere else, please.”

Villanelle takes Eve’s hand and walks her towards the door. “Mrs. Martens-Vasileva,” she says. “I have an important question for you.”

“Yes, Mrs. Vasileva-Martens?”

“Are you hungry?”

* * *

Eve’s blazer has mostly dried from the beer spillage, which is fortunate, since she has to put it on to cover the naughty shirt when they go out for a fancy dinner.

Expensive champagne. Prix fixe three-course meal. Molten chocolate cake. The works.

_Man, it feels good to be married._

After paying the bill that would’ve sent a more uptight Eve from a few months ago into cardiac arrest, they take hands again and walk through Boston on the nice spring night.

“Tell me a story,” Villanelle says.

Eve raises an eyebrow. “A shag story?” 

“A love story.”

“Okay. A while back…”

“No, take it seriously. Make it nice.”

“Fine. Once upon a time…” Eve begins in a mocking tone, but Villanelle nods excitedly, so Eve has no choice but to continue dramatically. “Once upon a time, a princess took a carriage from the far-off kingdom of Los Angeles and returned to her homeland of Massachusetts.”

“Oooh.”

“Deep in the enchanted forest she met her one True Love. But then, an evil curse threatened to keep them apart, called Their Parents.”

“Oh no.”

“But luckily True Love is magic and all that, blah blah blah, they lived happily ever after.”

“The beginning was okay, but you need to work on your follow-through.” Villanelle frowns. “Do you really think it’s a curse?”

“Curse isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s less like a fairy tale, and more like a Greek play.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Eve. This is not as weird as _Oedipus_.”

“That’s not what I meant! The Greeks were all about how for better or for worse, you can’t fight fate. None of this is how I would’ve written my own life story, if I had control. But even with our parents, you know… We never would’ve met otherwise.”

“I think we would have found each other.”

“Even if we met,” Eve says. “If we hadn’t both been at the club that night…”

“Don’t be silly,” Villanelle says. “I would’ve come after you anyway.”

“Ew. Really? If the first time you met me was as your future stepsister?”

“Sometimes when you love someone, you will do crazy things.”

“Hm,” Eve says. “Well, we also have you to thank.”

“Me?”

“If you hadn’t spoken up at brunch, all goody-goody… ‘I’ll stay here in Boston! It’s so important to get to know the family!’… I would’ve been on a plane back to LA that night.” Eve laughs. “Good thing you’re such a suck up.”

“Yes, that’s exactly why I stayed.”

Eve notices Villanelle avoiding her glance. “What is it?”

“Nothing! I definitely didn’t stay because I….” Villanelle mumbles something inaudible.

“Pardon?”

“I stayed because of you, okay?!” Villanelle snaps. “Super creepy. If you want an annulment now, say the word.”

Eve laughs. “I’d be a hypocrite if I did. Seeing as I stayed because of you, too.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, it was because I found you really, really annoying. But yeah, that’s your power.”

“You are so mean, Eve.”

“Let’s keep playing the game. Even if we were both here… if I hadn’t kissed you right after brunch?”

“I still would’ve found another time.”

“What if I had kissed you after the ice cream?”

“Why would that ruin it? It would’ve sped things up.”

“Maybe in a bad way, you know?” Eve says. “I could’ve kissed you then dropped you again a million times. You would’ve gotten sick of it and pushed me away at some point. I can be really _mean_ after all.”

“We could ask these questions forever.” Villanelle says. “No matter what, I think we would’ve made it here, somehow. I guess we can’t fight fate after all.”

“Still, I like to think that even if this is fate… we still choose to embrace it. We–”

Eve trails off as she feels a drop. Then another. A light drizzle begins. 

“Shit,” Villanelle mutters. “At least we’re close to the car…”

“I don’t want to go home yet.”

“I just want to get something to cover up.”

A few minutes later, Villanelle retrieves what she wanted from the trunk: Eve’s sweatshirt. She throws it on over her dress and pulls up the hood.

“Feel free to borrow my hoodie, by the way,” Eve says bitterly.

“Thanks.” Villanelle grins. “Don’t worry. Here’s something to protect you, too.” She reaches into the corner of the trunk and pulls out the novelty lobster hat she bought in Faneuil Hall ages ago.

A few months ago, Eve would’ve argued. Now, she plops the lobster had on her head with pride. It protects her hair from the now-steady drizzle. “Ironic,” Eve snorts.

“What?”

“Rain on our wedding day.”

Villanelle looks at Eve quizzically.

“Never mind…”

They resume their walk in the light sprinkle, now ambling along the side of Fenway Park. The rain is light enough that the game continues unimpeded.

After a few minutes, the general rumble of crowd noise is overtaken by music. The first few bars are immediately familiar to Eve. “Sweet Caroline.”

“Must be the eighth inning,” Eve says. The whole crowd sings along, of course, and Eve joins in too. Villanelle is less familiar with the song, but by the second chorus, she’s got the hang of it.

As it goes into the bridge, Villanelle take’s Eve’s arm and spins her. “This is our song now.”

“No,” Eve insists. “No, ‘Sweet Caroline’ can’t be our song.”

“Why not?”

“It’s so _basic_. You, of all people, should hate it.”

Villanelle’s face drops all at once. “I guess you are right. I don’t like how it’s another woman’s name.”

“Now if it was…” the final chorus begins, and Eve belts out, “Sweet Villanelle…”

Villanelle chimes in with the crowd response: “Ba ba ba!”

“Good times never seemed so good!”

“So good! So good! So good!”

By the time the song ends, their voices are hoarse from all the howling. A giggle fit follows. Then slowly dies down.

It occurs to Eve, that this moment is special, because it’s not. They’re just walking. They’re just existing. Together. And so they will get to do as much as they want. Forever. No more deadlines.

“You know, if we owe all this to our parents, we ought to thank them,” Villanelle says.

“Yeah, that’ll go over well,” Eve laughs. “Surprise! Here’s your wedding gift. Your daughters shacked up!”

Once the laughs die out, a lump forms in Eve’s throat. “Are you scared for tomorrow?”

“No. Are you?”

“A little,” Eve admits. “I don’t want to be. I keep telling myself that I don’t care how they react. And that’s kind of true. I have made up my mind that it’s worth it. I don’t regret what we’ve not, not even a little. In that way, I’m not scared. But the truth is, as much as I tell myself I want to get away from my mother…”

The words dry up. Villanelle puts her arm around Eve’s shoulder and pulls her close.

“I really don’t want to lose her.”

Villanelle doesn’t offer any reassurance. That’s why Eve loves her. Most people would offer some bullshit encouragement like, _“No you won’t!”_ or _“She loves you!”_ or _“It’s all going to work out!”_

Villanelle doesn’t say any of that, because she understands. She won’t try to wipe away the unhappy truth that when their parents find out, it might well fracture the family forever.

But she’s there. She’s with Eve, holding her tight. That’s all that matters.

“We have to tell them at some point,” Eve says, eventually. “We can’t sneak around our whole lives.”

“Right,” Villanelle agrees. “I want the whole world to know how hot my wife is.”

“But I think we should give it a little time,” Eve says. “So we don’t steal their thunder, you know? Let them have their day…”

“How long are we waiting? A week? A month?”

“Something like that.” Eve’s skin prickles with goosebumps at the thought of the eventual reveal, but tries instead to focus on how nice it will be to have that weight off her chest. In a week. Or a month.

“If they react poorly, we can escape onto our honeymoon.”

“Ooh. Paris?”

“I was thinking someplace tropical.”

“Let’s fight about it later. I’m beat.”

Luckily, they’ve made it back to Villanelle’s car. Villanelle opens the passenger side door. “Your chariot awaits, princess.”

Eve slumps down into her seat. “I’m exhausted.”

“I hope you have a little something left in the tank,” Villanelle says as she climbs into the driver’s seat. “Tonight is our wedding night. You know what that means.”

Eve does know, of course.

A happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Wonder Woman Pose is a real scientific thing, apparently. Shonda Rhimes told me so.
> 
> 2) Could not not include "Sweet Caroline" in a story taking place in Boston.
> 
> 3) Okay, fine, writing a villanelle for Villanelle is probably not something Eve Polastri would do, but showing up late to her own wedding is _absolutely_ something Eve Polastri would do, so indulge me, PLEASE
> 
> Big ending coming up! Remember you can listen to the playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uZynKCs2OZ1gxKmYX4XDG?si=DOzpwavIRaqy384_Ut_eqw), and you can also find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


	23. Wedding Bell Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle and Eve have to keep their secret a little while longer, through their parents' wedding ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixy, stop panicking! Actually, this goes for EVERYONE: don’t panic, I beg you. Take a breath and enjoy it. I’m not as cruel as you think I am.

_“I was the one who came running when you were lonely._  
_I haven’t lived one day not loving you only._  
_But kisses and love won’t carry me, ’til you marry me…”_  
—The 5th Dimension

* * *

Eve wakes to a faint buzzing.

While blinking sleep from her eyes, she processes a few things gradually. Villanelle is still asleep next to her in a tangled mess of sheets, drooling on the pillow. Her laptop is propped open at the foot of the bed, the screen dim. 

Memories of the previous night come back to Eve in bits and pieces. She recalls curling up next to Villanelle under the blankets, head on her shoulder, staring at the laptop together until her eyeballs ached… how did they get there…?

Right – it started when they were talking about their parents’ wedding; Villanelle asked if she thought anyone would say “I object” during the ceremony, and then made some joke about _Shrek_. When Eve didn’t laugh, Villanelle became very offended that Eve had never seen _Shrek_. Naturally, she demanded they watch it together, and then, naturally, she demanded they watch _Shrek 2_ immediately after. Eve’s pretty sure they fell asleep at some point during the third movie. They never got to the whole “wedding night sex” plan.

What’s that _buzzing_?

Eve sits up properly and tunes into the sound. One she keys into it, she recognizes the rhythm the vibrations as her phone alarm. But it’s buried in her purse, all the way on the other side of the room. Groaning, she climbs out of bed to get it.

As soon as she dismisses the alarm and sees her lock screen, she yells.

“Whaa?” Villanelle grunts, started awake by the sound. “What’s happening? Where’s the danger? I’ll kill it.” Before her eyes are fully open, she grabs the lamp off her nightstand and raises it like a weapon.

Eve’s chest seizes up in terror as she reads the time and date.

June third. Their parents’ wedding day.

11:15 AM.

The alarm has been going off for hours already and they slept through it. 

And they’re supposed to show up at the venue at noon, dressed and ready for photos. 

Eve says nothing, only shows Villanelle the time. That very instant, she’s out of bed like a shot. Eve kicks into action as well. There’s not a second to waste.

They both barrel into the shower together – they can't afford to take turns.

“Vill!” Eve yelps as she feels a limb brush against her ass. “There’s no time for that!”

“I’m trying to reach my shampoo. Get your butt out of the way.”

“You move first, so I can rinse.”

A few minutes later, they’re fighting over the hair dryer; Eve wins the privilege of its use first owing to how her hair requires significantly more time.

She passes the torch to Villanelle, then goes into the bedroom to dress.

Eve steps into the dark red sleeveless dress she purchased two months ago, and starts doing her makeup in the bedroom mirror while Villanelle monopolizes the bathroom.

“Ravishing.” Villanelle comments as she comes up behind Eve. One hand snakes around to Eve’s belly, while the other zips up her back. 

“You look pretty dashing, yourself.” Eve lets her eyes sweep over every inch of Villanelle’s figure in her pitch-black tuxedo very disrespectfully.

Eve applies her lipstick while Villanelle remains behind her, watching in the mirror. 

Against all odds, they’re dressed in their wedding attire, ready to go, and it’s only 11:45. 

_Shit._ Despite their best efforts, they’re definitely going to be late, and Eve is definitely going to get an earful about it.

Eve grabs her purse and prays she hasn’t forgotten anything essential, because there’s no time to waste.

“Wait.” 

Villanelle’s hand on Eve’s shoulder stops her. Villanelle takes Eve’s hand, and slides her ring off her finger. She takes off her own as well and palms them. 

Right. As soon as they step outside this apartment, they aren’t married. The secret has to last a little while longer. 

Getting through today will be the toughest part, but once the dust settles, they can handle it properly. Deliver the news to their parents delicately, then move on with life. Finally drop the deception and live normally. Well, kind of normally.

As they make it out the door and onto the sidewalk, Villanelle screams loud enough to startle a few birds into fleeing. “My car!”

Indeed, her car is gone; there’s only an empty stretch of curb where she parked it last night.

Eve points to the painted lines on the ground where Villanelle’s car was last night. “Tow zone! I told you!”

“It was barely over the line!”

“Oh, that changes _everything_!” Eve groans. “Go get in your time machine and go back and argue with the tow truck driver about that! Lots of good that will do!”

Eve’s car is still at the house, so that isn’t an option. Luckily, Villanelle has already whipped out her phone to call an Uber.

“It’s not able to find any drivers.” Villanelle squints at the screen. “I have one star. Why do I have one star?”

“Probably from the ride to the docks. Poor Yuval.” Eve shakes her head, then pulls out her own phone and opens Uber. “What? I have one star, too?”

Villanelle laughs sadistically. “Probably from the ride home.”

“Fuck. We can’t stand here waiting for some driver desperate enough to take us on.” Eve grabs Villanelle’s hand and starts dragging her down the street.

“Where are we going?”

“To the T,” Eve says. “We’ll get on at Boylston, and it’s only two stops to Copley.”

Villanelle’s face goes green at the mere thought of boarding the Green Line. “We cannot take the subway to a wedding.”

“We don’t have a choice, unless you’d rather walk the whole way. Come on!”

Eve tries not to lose her footing in her high heels on the uneven cobblestones. Once Villanelle stops dragging her feet, she quickly overtakes Eve – everything’s easier in flats. 

Fortunately, it’s not a terribly long journey to get on the train; the closest station entrance is just across Boston Common. 

The statue of George Washington frowns down at them as they enter the park. Hand in hand, they dodge past tourists, joggers, and families. A golden lab runs across the path, and Eve has to swerve to avoid stepping on it. She leans to the side and leaps over its leash, pulled taught between the dog, now sniffing at a flower bush, and its very distraught owner, dragged along behind it. Villanelle follows behind, hurdling over the leash just the same.

They loop past trees and benches, and cut across swaths of green grass. They pass the pond, where the swan boat operator is just starting to admit families, as well as a few food carts setting up to serve frozen custard and Italian ice.

“Hi ducklings!” Villanelle slows and waves as they pass the little family of duck statues. Eve yanks her ahead – they don’t have time for sentimentality!

Soon, the entrance to the subway is in sight. Eve’s starting to sweat as they descend the stairs, but there’s nothing to be done except pray she doesn’t stink too badly by the time they get to the wedding.

As they approach the gates, Eve taps her CharlieCard against the sensor once. The gate opens, and, at Eve’s prompting, Villanelle steps through. It seems to take ages for the gate to close again and allow Eve to pay her own entry, but when she taps her card a second time, nothing happens. She tries again, and again. The tiny LED screen on the turnstile beeps at her: _INSUFFICIENT FUNDS_.

Of all the times to have to refill her card… Eve glances around at the ticket machines against the wall. Some are papered over, “Out of Order”, and there are short queues behind the few working machines. How bad would it be if she hopped the gate?

Before she can decide if the risk of getting yelled at and possibly detained for fare evasion is worth it, a voice chimes in to help.

“Don’t worry. I gotcha.” A hand reaches over and taps a card against the sensor, and then the gate allows them through.

“Thanks!” Eve bolts through, then as she turns, she skids to a stop when she recognizes her subway savior. “Oh, hi Mark!”

Mark, the bearded father who Eve had shared a smoke with at Irina’s softball game, tips his trucker cap to Eve. “Better go, seems like you’re in a hurry to wherever it is you’re going.”

Eve blurts out another round of thanks, and now, it’s Villanelle dragging _her_ further into the station.

While they run down the stairs to the Outbound platform, Eve hikes up her dress so it doesn’t trail on the grimy floor. Fortunately, there’s an Outbound train waiting for them already. Eve and Villanelle make it inside just in time.

As the doors slide shut and the train engine kicks to life, it hits Eve, there’s no going back.

No. Going. Back.

She and Villanelle are married. In a few hours, their parents will be too. As much as Eve chose this scenario, sound of heart and mind, that little gland of self preservation in her brain remained constantly searching for the secret escape route, should it all go to shit. She looks for it again now, but comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that _there is no escape_. 

Her breathing speeds up. She zooms in on the emergency exit at the end of the train. Would leaping out onto the tracks be safer than whatever doom awaits her when her mother finds out what she’s done?

“What’s wrong?”

She hardly hears Villanelle’s words; they seem to be coming from a million miles away. 

“I think I’m having a panic attack.”

“What do you usually do when that happens?”

“It only happened once before. When, um...”

Words are difficult. The squeaky, screechy din of the train’s brakes squealing against the tracks drowns out any coherent thoughts that Eve might form. Villanelle doesn’t press, she simply waits patiently for Eve to be able to go on.

“When I thought you didn’t care about me. When I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m here now.” Villanelle takes Eve’s hand and squeezes it, but even this touch does nothing. “What can I do?”

“Does anyone have a cigarette?” Eve pants. “I need a cigarette!”

The rising hysteria in her voice must’ve attracted general attention, for a woman seated across from them pulls one out and offers it, but Villanelle holds up a hand to stop her. “Eve. Listen to my voice. I’m going to ask you something very important.”

“Okay.”

“Can you tell me some fun facts about Boston?”

The goofiness of this request must be a sign that Eve’s mind is playing tricks on her. This panic attack is worse than the first.

“Stay with me, Eve. I am very serious. I want to learn more about this city that is my new home, and you are the expert. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Eve’s eyes flick around the train car, still looking for an escape from this crushing prison. But then, she sees a poster in one of the advertisement slots on the wall, for the MBTA itself. A spark catches. “Do you know why the transit passes here are called CharlieCards?” she manages, though she’s not sure if she said it out loud.

“No,” Villanelle says, furrowing her brow, listening intently. “Tell me.”

“A whole bunch of years ago, they tried to add an ‘exit fare’ to the train so you had to pay when you got on, and again when you got off. People didn’t like that, so they wrote a protest song about a guy named Charlie who got stuck on the train forever because he didn’t have an extra nickel to get off.”

“That is silly,” Villanelle says. “Why wouldn’t they just let him go? They wouldn’t want a man living on the train.”

“Exactly, but that’s the point of the song, how stupid it is. But the other thing I never got,” her words start to pick up in speed, “is that the song mentions Charlie’s wife passing him a sandwich every morning through the train window. But why couldn’t she pass him another nickel, huh?”

“How does it go?”

Eve swallows, and begins singing the old melody in a tentative tone. “Did he ever return? No, he never returned. And his fate is still unlearned…”

A few other passengers have apparently tuned into their conversation, as they chime in at the appropriate moment with the response: “Poor Charlie!”

More voices join Eve as she completes the chorus: “He may ride forever ‘neath the streets of Boston. He’s the man who never returned.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen to us,” Villanelle says. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Eve is dazed as Villanelle pulls her up out of her seat.

“It’s our stop, isn’t it?”

Eve glances out the window to the sign on the station wall. “Copley, yes!”

They run out of the train just as the doors close behind them. As they run for the staircase, Eve stumbles and gasps in pain.

“What is it?”

“Running in heels. Not fun.”

“Here. Get on.” Villanelle squats in front of Eve and beckons. Eve wants to argue, but her feet are already killing her, and she’s stuck in these heels for the rest of the day, so she climbs onto Villanelle’s back. Villanelle carries her piggy-back up the stairs into the summer sun. 

Eve blinks in the sunlight. They’re at the corner of Boylston and Dartmouth street, with the lush greenery of Copley Square just across the way, and the impressive façade of Trinity Church behind it. But they aren’t headed for the park, but rather the massive stone building with three bronze doors just across the street.

“Right there.” Villanelle follows the direction Eve points, and dashes across the intersection as the “stop walking” hand is flashing. A turning car almost hits them and honks.

“Watch it, asshole!” Eve shouts from her perch. “We’re on our way to a wedding!”

They finally reach the wide stone steps of the Boston Public Library. Villanelle deposits Eve gently on the stone. They take two steps, then Eve freezes. “We can’t walk in together.”

“You go.” Villanelle nods. She doesn’t have to say anything else. They both know Eve will get more heat for being late. 

Eve runs up the steps, all the way to the door, then pivots, runs back down, and kisses Villanelle. “I love you.” 

Villanelle leans in for only a second before breaking off and frantically waving for Eve to go in. 

Eve walks through the library doors into the impressive foyer, dominated by a huge white marble staircase. On either side of the stairs, white lion sculptures sit atop platforms, looking down upon the entrance.

She follows posted signs directing her to the _Martens-Vasiliev Wedding_ , which lead her to a long, barrel-shaped room. High above her head, the arched ceiling is broken into recessed squares. Rows and rows of reading tables are covered with white table cloths and elegant place settings – they’ll double as the seating for the ceremony, and for the dinner to follow. An aisle stretches down the middle of the room, leading to a domed apse at the end, where the ceremony will be performed. Arched windows along one wall fill the room with a radiant natural glow.

Her mother really knows how to pick a venue.

The rest of the immediate family is already there, of course, and all of them are dressed in the sharp attire they purchased for the occasion. As soon as Eve walks in, she preempts the question everyone is about to ask. “I’m sorry.” She throws up her hands. “Car trouble.”

She expects at least some gentle reprimand from her mother, but Carolyn has no reaction to this. Instead, it’s Irina who asks, “Where’s Villanelle?”

Eve glares at her pointedly. “That’s a good question. I don’t know, since I came from Bill’s.”

Kenny and Elena exchange a worried look, but neither of the parents pay any attention to the exchange; they’re understandably preoccupied.

“Well, we can’t get started with the photos until she’s here, so let’s all take a breath,” Konstantin says.

“In the mean time, we may as well touch ourselves up.” Carolyn gives Eve a loaded look. Eve is well aware she's a sweaty mess at the moment, so she lets this comment slide and heads to the restroom.

Eve approaches the mirror and dumps out her purse onto the counter, so the various makeup she brought scatters across the counter next to the sink. She first grabs a few paper towels and dabs sweat from her skin, then sets to work touching up her foundation.

A few moments later, Carolyn joins her. She’s clad in the simple black dress she picked out months ago. A stranger might assume she was dressed for a funeral, but Eve has to say, the macabre nature of it oddly suits her.

“Do you have any lip balm?”

“Um, no.”

“Lipstick, then? I need something. My lips have gone terribly dry in this heat.”

Eve hands over her lipstick. Carolyn leans over the sink for a closer look at her reflection as she applies it.

“So…” Eve begins. “It’s finally happening.”

“Indeed.”

“How do you feel?”

“A bit weary, to be perfectly honest.” Carolyn mumbles as she forms her lips into an O in the mirror. “Celebration is merited, of course, but I believe we’re both ready to put a bow on this and get on with our life together.”

“I’m really happy for you.” As the words come out, Eve’s surprised to realize that she means them.

“Konstantin… he’s the one I’ve been looking for, I think.” Carolyn caps the lipstick and rubs her lips together. “The one I thought I found in those others, but never did. For a while, I thought I might be better off alone. And in dark moments on dark nights, I even wondered if this was an indication of personal shortcoming. That I might be, in a way, broken.”

“You’re not…” Eve struggles to find the right reassurance. It’s hard, since the words are too familiar to her.

“And I know it filtered through into other parts of life. And I worried… I _worry_ … that I may have passed that onto you.”

Too many times, Eve has had that same thought. Only she never wondered: she _knew_ she was broken, and if only she could articulate the myriad ways, if only she could pinpoint the source of the breakage, she might be able to hold the breaker accountable.

“Eve.” Carolyn fixes her gaze on Eve’s reflection, making eye contact with her through the mirror. “I don’t want you to feel bad about being single. If you are happy alone, I think that’s wonderful. But I also don’t want you to feel like I felt. Broken. And I hope, if it’s what you want, that someday, you will have what I have with Konstantin. Someone with whom you no longer question every moment, where you know with absolute certainty that everything up until the present moment was a necessary journey to get to this person. And if that is in the cards, I hope it doesn’t take you as long as it took me.”

Eve can’t sit here and leave that speech, which must have taken thirty years worth of saved-up emotional vulnerability for Carolyn to say, without response.

An honest response.

A surge of adrenaline flows through Eve’s veins as she takes a deep breath in preparation. “The truth is, I–”

The bathroom door swings open with a bang. It’s Irina, calling to them. “She’s here!”

Carolyn places the lipstick down on the counter in front of Eve. “You were saying?”

“Never mind.”

They exit to the reception hall, where Villanelle is grinning proudly with a tray full of Dunkin’ Donuts cups in each hand. “Carolyn, I’m sincerely sorry for arriving late,” she says. “But I thought we could all use a treat to calm any jitters.”

She puts the trays down on one of the tables, and the whole family swarms excitedly. 

“I guessed on some people’s orders, I hope you like what I got. For Dad, hot coffee, black. For Carolyn, unsweetened iced tea. Kenny, iced latte.”

Eve’s appalled. She knows she’d never get away with a stunt like this, and she expected at least a little yelling from the parents. “Really? Is this worth being late to a wedding?”

“Everyone loves Dunkin’, even if they pretend not to.” Villanelle pops open a box of donuts and offers one.

Eve’s furious, but she never says no to a donut, so she snatches one angrily. That smarmy, slick snake is still sucking up to the parents even to this day. 

“Don’t be mad, Eve. I got you a drink, too. Iced coffee, no dairy, three Splendas?”

Eve accepts the drink and takes a cautious sip. It’s bad enough that she can’t help making a face. She takes her coffee with one cream and one normal sugar. Villanelle knows this.

She purposefully got Eve’s coffee wrong to keep their secret. And maybe to piss Eve off a little bit, too; it’s hard to say.

That is the woman Eve loves.

* * *

After a few minutes of caffeination, they line up in the grand entrance hall for photos. The photographer, an affable bearded man called Bear, directs them to stand in different combinations, one after another, so he can get pictures with all the different family arrangements. 

The entire family ended up dressed in some manner of red or black, so their outfits create a striking, almost frightening contrast against the white marble staircase.

Not one of the various poses has Eve next to Villanelle, which is simultaneously a relief, since it’s always a challenge not to let down her guard when in proximity to Villanelle, but also bittersweet. She and Villanelle didn’t get a photo session like this, nor did they get a fancy venue, or a long guest list. She doesn’t regret the choices they made, though she is a little bit wistful about not being able to do a proper, traditional wedding, especially since Villanelle would probably plan the wedding of the century if she wasn’t bound by secrecy.

But they got themselves into this situation, so now, they have to live with it.

Still, it’s not so hard to smile for the camera. Not as hard as Eve from three months ago would’ve found it. _Wow, I was really bitter,_ Eve reflects. Maybe it’s sad that it took finding her own love first to gain the capacity to be happy for her mother, but she’s there now, and that’s what counts.

Eve smiles a little bigger to make up for her past failings. 

Weddings are happy occasions, period. Let this happiness be preserved in print for years to come.

* * *

A few hours later, the family waits in the reception hall as guests trickle in to fill the seats. While the parents buzz about, fielding greetings from all sides, the children stand in a loose clump near the front of the room, and point out the arrivals to each other.

“Look,” Kenny nudges Eve. “Geraldine’s here.”

Eve can’t suppress a scoff, which causes Villanelle to tilt her head. “What’s her deal?”  
  
“Geraldine’s our cousin, and her mom passed when she was little, which is sad and all, but she always tries to latch onto Carolyn as like, her new maternal figure. God only knows why, she’d want to steal our mom, since she can barely mother her own children, and she’s not particularly fond of Geraldine either, but that doesn’t stop her…”

Carolyn appears by them, shifty eyed, and murmurs to Eve, “Look who’s here.”

“We saw.”

“Now that she’s arrived, I wish I hadn’t invited her, even with the fuss it would’ve caused. She’s already brewing the waterworks, I can feel it.”

“Don’t worry,” Eve laughs. “I’ll run interference if I see her coming your way.”

“Bless you.” Then Carolyn’s off to greet some other guests.

Eve snickers. 

“She’s that bad?” Villanelle asks.

“Hating Geraldine was one thing my mother and I could always bond over,” Eve replies. “Tell me about some of your family. Who are those boys?”

“The tall one there, that’s my cousin Pyotr, and there’s his little brother, Bor’ka.”

“Villanelle! Irina!”

The two boys run over, as if they heard their names murmured from across the room. Pyotr wraps up Villanelle in a hug, and little Bor’ka does the same to Irina, then they switch. Eve bites back a snicker: both sisters adopt the exact same expression of shock, discomfort, and barely restrained anger at being suddenly touched.

“It’s so good to see you! It’s been ages!”

“Yes,” Villanelle nods to Pyotr, then squats down to look Bor’ka in the eye. “But you are still a tiny thing.”

“No! I’ve grown five centimeters.”

“America is fantastic. We have to thank Uncle Konstantin for giving us a reason to come out here. Bor’ka, tell her all the great things we’ve seen so far.”

Bor’ka starts chattering rapidly – his English is incredible, despite his young age – about all the exciting things that have happened since they landed in the U.S., the most spectacular of which, according to him, is how the cab driver played “Bennie and the Jets” on their ride from the airport.

Then, Pyotr whisks Bor’ka away to explore the vastness of the room. 

“Well, well, well.” A wrinkled woman in a silver suit saunters up. “It’s my favorite niece.” She looks at Villanelle and Irina. “And the one with the stupid name.”

Villanelle’s face goes absolutely stony.

“To this day I cannot believe Konstantin let that kooky wife of his name his firstborn. Perhaps he knew you were not deserving of a strong, Russian, name.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that you’re still struggling with your halitosis,” Villanelle replies in a concerned voice. “Or rather, smell.”

The woman bares her yellowing teeth, readying a response, but then, from across the room, Konstantin calls out “Dasha!” The woman looks Villanelle up and down once, scoffs, and goes.

“That’s my great aunt Dasha,” Villanelle mutters. “We do not get along.”

“Yeah, I could tell. What’s the story there?”

“She’s always getting in my face. It’s like she wants me to fight her.” Villanelle balls her fists. “One of these days, I might.”

“Not today, please,” Kenny says. “We’re doing so well, we might just get through this without incident.”

“Hello, lovers.”

Eve’s blood freezes in her veins. 

Hugo’s coming towards them, and he’s grinning a mischievous grin.

He knows. He knows they’re together. He hasn’t been at this wedding for ten seconds and he’s already blowing it!

Eve’s about to scream, but Elena, as always, comes to the rescue. “No need to be crass over a bit of PDA.” She yanks Kenny close and pecks him on the cheek as if that was the source of Hugo’s comment.

Not that it matters, because Carolyn and Konstantin are both on the other side of the room talking to Dasha, now, but Eve pulls Hugo aside. “Listen. You cannot bring up our relationship. Don’t mention it, don’t allude to it, don’t betray any awareness of it at all. Got it?”

“You still haven’t told your mother?” Hugo chokes. “I thought you’re engaged?”

“Married, but that isn’t the point. Don’t breathe a word of it.” Eve realizes this came off a bit mean, so she adds, “Please?”

“Realtor-client privilege.” Hugo mimes zipping his lip. “Suppose I’ll go find a good seat for the show, then.”

One bomb defused. If they can make it another few hours… 

Slowly, the tables fill with guests. Eve feels a surge of relief when she sees Bill and Keiko find their seats – at least there are some guests she doesn’t need to worry about causing drama, or spilling the beans. A few more cousins and uncles Eve hasn’t seen in years appear, plus plenty more faces she doesn’t recognize. A smattering of Russian joins the English murmur in the crowd. Two families, from across the world, about to become one.

* * *

The ceremony goes off without a hitch.

No one objects. Everyone chooses to forever hold their peace.

There are no dragons, either. It’s much less exciting than the wedding in _Shrek._

None of Eve's panicked nightmares of someone standing up in the middle of the ceremony and exposing her and Villanelle come to pass. Nor her nightmares of various other ways she personally could ruin the wedding – tripping down the aisle, somehow setting off the fire alarm, knocking over the cake... Yep, at thirty-seven years old, Eve finally manages to get through a family event and stand where she's supposed to, do as she's told, and not chop off anyone's limbs by accident. It's a sad triumph.

So it’s done, and it’s time for dinner.

Probably because she didn’t eat a proper meal all day other than a couple donuts she scarfed before photo time, Eve is ravenous, and she absolutely tears through every course put in front of her. 

The food’s delicious. The decorations are beautiful. Everyone’s having a great time. Except Eve. She feels guilty at this; she shouldn’t complain. It’s not _her_ wedding after all, and it definitely could be worse. But sitting two seats down from Villanelle, and having to watch every word she says lest she let too much affection slip, is like torture after the unrestrained joy of the previous day. 

As happy as she is for Carolyn and Konstantin – and she’d have to be a complete sociopath not to be – seeing their hands casually resting on each other while they eat aches like nothing else. They’re the perfect picture of newlyweds.

What Eve wouldn’t give just to reach out and grab her wife’s hand. To lay her head on her shoulder. To sit closer than two chairs apart.

“What a lovely ceremony.” Geraldine appears, as if from nowhere. How does she do that? 

Carolyn completely fails to hide her annoyance. “Yes, Geraldine.”

“I cried the whole time.”

“We saw.”

“And heard,” Eve adds, earning a tiny, barely audible guffaw from her mother.

“Oh, but love is simply so wonderful. You must be so happy, Eve, to have a father now. How I wish I had a mother…” Geraldine sneaks closer, and clutches the back of Carolyn’s chair. God, that woman is bold.

“Hey, Geraldine,” Eve says. “You know any Elton John?”

“Yes.” Geraldine tilts her head. “Why?”

“Little Bor’ka over there is super scared to be in the U.S. for the first time, and he could really use someone to sing him his favorite songs and cheer him up.” Eve points over to where Bor’ka is tossing croutons at Pyotr, clearly not distressed. “I bet you’re the only one who could do it.”

“Oh, it must be so sad to be a child so far from home!” For all the weakness of Eve’s lie, it’s still enough to get the waterworks going again, and this minor prod is enough to get Geraldine out of their hair.

Carolyn nods silent thanks. Eve shrugs a silent “don’t mention it”.

Eventually, the parents get up to make the rounds again, which affords Eve and Villanelle some freedom to scoot a seat closer, only one chair apart, and talk a bit more freely. But it’s still hard. They have to keep it neutral in case someone sneaks up on them. So they go back to pointing out more cousins to each other.

“Who’s that one?” Villanelle points not-so-subtly. 

“That’s Gemma.”

“She’s…”

“I know.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure I know the word for it.”

“Well endowed.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Eve makes a face. “She’s my cousin.”

“And I’m your stepsister.” Villanelle cocks an eyebrow.

Eve scoots into the chair right next to Villanelle. She leans in. She whispers, “You’re my _wife._ ”

“Am I? We didn’t make it official with a proper wedding night.”

“Here? Now?”

“It’s tradition!”

Eve warily scans the room to check the location of the parents. She spots Carolyn and Konstantin talking to Carolyn’s old colleague, Paul, at the other end of the room, engrossed in conversation. 

“No.” Eve shakes her head; it’s not worth taking chances.

“But there’s another tradition, isn’t there? Maid of Honor and Best Man. It’s so expected, it’s cliché. We’d be doing the very notion of weddings a disservice if we ignore double tradition.”

Eve wishes she could say she put her foot down. She wishes she could say she even put up a good fight before giving in. 

But the truth is, after staggering their exits from the reception by five minutes, they meet up on the upper level of the library, and poke around until they find an empty reading room. One with a door that locks.

A few rows of bookshelves fill one end of the room, and a large reading table sits at the other end. The only light comes from a few small sconces set into the wall by the door, which provide a gentle incandescent glow. Villanelle’s eyes are dark, with a faint spark at the center of the pupils from the dim light. Her lips play in a smile that’s at once inviting and dangerous, strangely reminiscent of the first night Eve met her. A warning – _once I hold you, I’ll never let go, and what’s more, you’ll never want me to._

Eve remembers how Villanelle took her against that bathroom wall that night, three and a half months ago. Eve didn’t even know her name then, but now, Eve has taken her name. 

Life is funny like that.

Eve leads this time, taking Villanelle against the bookshelf. It’s sturdy, but it rattles as Eve pushes her body against it with force. Her hands begin to roam, tracing every surface of Villanelle.

“I love this forehead,” Eve says as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss it. “I love these cheeks. I love this chin.” Her fingers trace across the smooth velvet skin of Villanelle’s jawline. “I love these ears.” Her hands go to the base of Villanelle’s skull, her thumbs gently pulling at her earlobes.

“I love this neck,” Eve bends in to kiss Villanelle’s neck, then sucks, holding for one, two, three seconds while her hands undo Villanelle’s black bowtie. Once it’s undone, she takes the two ends and yanks Villanelle closer, thrusting her tongue into Villanelle’s mouth at the same time.

Villanelle shivers when Eve’s lips finally release her. But Eve isn’t done yet, her hands slide down from cradling Villanelle’s chin to slide across the breadth of her chest. “These shoulders.” She pulls off Villanelle’s tuxedo jacket and toss it aside. 

“I love these arms.” Eve traces down her biceps. “These wrists and these hands.” Their fingers interlace for a moment, locking into place. 

But there’s more to be done. Eve undoes Villanelle’s vest, sliding it off of her arms. She leans her body forward, pressing Villanelle into the wall of books behind her, and grasps her breasts in each hand. “I love these bazoingas.” She massages them in a circular motion, and Villanelle’s nipples start to harden enough that Eve can feel it through multiple layers of fabric.

A hand goes to the small of Eve’s back, pulling her still closer. Lips make contact again. Eve will never get tired of this, of her mouth on Villanelle’s.

A few strands of blonde hair have escaped from Villanelle’s ponytail, and fall forward so they brush against Eve’s cheek. It tickles. Eve giggles right into Villanelle’s kiss.

“You are the weirdest person I have ever met,” Villanelle breathes.

“I could say the same thing.”

Eve’s hands drop to Villanelle’s hips. She undoes the clasp on Villanelle’s pants, then unzips them and lets them fall to her ankles. Their bodies grind together as they continue to kiss. Eve inches her hand underneath the waistband of Villanelle’s black panties. She’s already wet, and a low whimper escapes her as Eve’s fingers creep inside her.

Eve thumbs over Villanelle’s nipples while her other hand works simple magic – two fingers inside, her thumb on the clit. Villanelle throws her head back, knocking a book off the shelf, while her fingers grasp along leather-bound spines on the lower shelf. 

Taste her, taste her again. Try as she might, Eve can’t keep herself off of Villanelle’s neck, not that she needs to. She tears a few of the top buttons of the black silk shirt open with her teeth, then sucks on the tender skin over Villanelle’s clavicle. It will leave a mark; _good,_ Eve thinks. She wants to mark her territory.

“You’re mine,” she purrs.

Another liquid moan, and Villanelle’s hips buck forward ever so slightly. 

“Forever.”

The next moan is more like a shudder. Villanelle’s core seizes up, and her breath hitches. Eve withdraws her hand and caresses the body before her again. This is hers, all hers. 

Villanelle’s pink in the face, lashes fluttering, but it’s hardly five seconds before she regains control. She exhales through her nostrils like a bull about to charge. She kicks her shoes and her pants out of the way, and scans Eve up and down, taking in every detail like she’s starving, and Eve is a feast made only for her.

Villanelle takes Eve by the shoulders and drives her across the room, bending over and kissing her neck furiously. She has the lead now, and backs up Eve against the table. A few more kisses, rough, desperate – then Eve twists around. She braces her hands against the tabletop, while Villanelle hikes up the back of her dress, sticking her arm under. She yanks Eve’s underwear down with a quick pull, and Eve kicks it off, along with her shoes, while Villanelle probes into her wetness and slides two fingers into her.

Eve’s hands splay out wide on the table, knocking into some books laid out there. Villanelle reaches her left hand to rest on top of Eve’s, holding her tight, and pinning her securely. 

High, strained gasps escape Eve, in time with Villanelle fucking her. It’s a good thing they made their way to this remote corner of the library, because Eve could not keep herself quiet if she tried. 

“Good,” Villanelle hisses, her breath hot on Eve’s neck. “Show me how much you want it.”

“Yes, Vill. Yes!” She feels herself growing hotter and hotter, tight around Villanelle’s fingers, and throbbing. 

“Do you take me, forever?” Villanelle punctuates each question with another thrust, working her angle deeper and deeper.

“I do.” Her fingers scratch at the grainy wooden tabletop and her knuckles go white.

“Are you satisfied?”

Eve bites her lip, but a whimper still escapes, as Villanelle penetrates her further. She’s absurdly wet. 

“I want…”

Villanelle curls her fingers forward, pressing on Eve’s G-spot. Eve sees stars.

“You want more?”

“I want…” 

“Yes?”

“I want to eat you out.”

A tense moment. Eve holds her breath while she waits to see if her request will be granted.

Villanelle sighs. “Fuck, me too.”

And so it is decided.

As they strip off the rest of their clothing, Villanelle starts muttering under her breath “Red leather, yellow leather. Irish wristwatch. Explicit solicitor.”

“What the fuck are you saying?”

“Tongue twisters. You know. To warm up.” She clicks her jaw a few times.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I take this work seriously.” Villanelle says. “To sit in solemn silence…”

Eve decides to shut her up the best way she knows how, by kissing her. Then, tongue still in her mouth, she helps Villanelle pull her shirt and bra off, while Villanelle unzips Eve’s dress. They break contact briefly to pull the dress over Eve’s head, then, pause. Both panting, breathing, fully nude. There’s no need to ask what the next move is. Eve can see in Villanelle’s eyes that they’re on the same page.

They wheel around to the reading table and furiously sweep the abandoned books and papers off the edge until it’s clear. Villanelle boosts Eve up onto the tabletop then clambers on herself, straddling over Eve. 

A few playful nips at her collarbone and breasts, then, Eve decides it’s time to get down to business. She guides Villanelle by the neck, gets her on her side, then orients herself the opposite way, so her head is at Villanelle’s feet.

“Does this work?”

Villanelle grunts in assent, while she puts her head between Eve’s legs. Eve does the same, and props Villanelle’s top leg over her shoulder for easy access. They settle into the position, half on their sides, half on their backs, then, they start going at it.

When Eve dips her tongue in to taste Villanelle, it tastes like forever. Something different is in the air, today. As many times as they’ve done this before, as many different positions they’ve used (though never this exact one)… there’s a certain electricity to it this time that is entirely new. Eve supposes it might be the “wedding night” magic that they didn’t cash in last night.

Whatever it is, it’s _fan-fucking-tastic_. 

The air thrums. Eve digs in deeper, her tongue circling Villanelle’s clit. A shiver runs through her as Villanelle mixes it up, alternating between penetrating with her tongue and her fingers, so Eve never knows what’s coming next.

Eve gives as she gets. She finds herself subconsciously mimicking what she feels, as Villanelle does the same – a hedonistic positive feedback loop. Eve has to suppress the reflex to kick her legs out in ecstasy lest she kick Villanelle in the head.

She pulls at Villanelle’s thighs, gearing herself forward with more leverage. At the same time, her stomach clenches, she bucks her hips and she can feel Villanelle’s surprise at the gesture, but it’s too much, it’s too good–

Eve slows for a minute, and taps on Villanelle’s hip gently. _Hold back,_ her tap says. _I’m too close. Let me help you catch up._ Villanelle gets the message and picks up her head as well.

They explore each other’s bodies. Eve grasps the bountiful expanse of Villanelle’s thighs. A touch, a kiss – every inch of her skin is absolutely perfect. Every freckle, hair and pore… Meanwhile she feels Villanelle’s kisses dotting her lower stomach, her inner thighs, the softest, most touch-starved corners of her body…

Eve returns one hand to Villanelle’s clit, and works slowly, firmly. With her other, her fingertips trace along Villanelle’s back, up her spine. To be this close with each other is to be one. They’re bound forever, now. Physically, spiritually, legally. 

And to add onto it, symbolically… Eve feels Villanelle growing warmer, wetter, and knows she’s catching up. She keeps working with her thumb but puts her face back into Villanelle’s warmth, and Villanelle mirrors the action. Moves her tongue a little faster. Grasps her legs a little tighter. To give and be given at the same time… there are no words.

Eve can’t hold back anymore, she’s coming and she can’t stop it. She seizes up, but she doesn’t stop, and a moment later, she knows Villanelle is coming too. They’re a tangled chain, a cacophonous symphony, the climax of a movie with a big fiery explosion. Perfect ending. Roll the credits.

In the aftershock, they fall into each other. Eve’s a happy mush of exhaustion. It takes all the effort she has in her to extricate her limbs and turn herself around so they’re facing right-side up again, her head cuddling into Villanelle’s chest. Villanelle pulls her closer, wraps one hand in Eve’s hair, and holds her tight.

Skin to skin. They can’t get enough contact. Cheek to chest, arm in arm, knee to thigh. They burrow into each other while their pulses slowly return to their resting state. Eve can feel Villanelle’s heart beat through her chest. It seems to match its pace to Eve’s own. Every beat says that they live for each other. 

“We’re married.”

“Yep.”

“That’s real.”

“Yep.”

“It all feels like a dream.”

“Yep.”

“But it’s not.” Eve picks her head up. “It’s not a dream, or a fairy-tale, or a romcom. This is real life, and I love you.”

“I love you too,” Villanelle says. “Sis.”

That merits a kick.

Coming down from their personal cloud nine is a bit of a bummer, but it stings less when Eve repeats her new favorite word: _forever_. She’s able to enjoy the simplest of gestures – stepping back into their clothes together, helping each other button and zip – just as much as the sex itself.

Villanelle re-does her ponytail while Eve shakes out her curls so they fall naturally again. Not even Bill will be able to spot her “sex hair” this time. 

It takes a few minutes to restore all the books they knocked out of place so the room looks as it was when they walked in. Then, it’s finally time to bid their little improvised honeymoon suite goodbye.

They’re not in such a hurry as they retrace their steps. It’s a long journey back towards the reception, through mostly empty corridors, so they allow themselves to hold hands, and steal a few more minutes of physical contact.

As they begin to descend the stairs back to the main entrance hall, Eve reaches up and smooths back a few loose strands of Villanelle’s hair.

“Careful,” Villanelle says. “As soon as we’re back in there, you need to keep it in your pants for the rest of the day. Can you manage that?”

“You’re acting like I’m the only perv here,” Eve hisses. Then her gaze drops. “You missed a button.”

They pause on the stairs, right in between the two lion sculptures standing guard. Her fingers dart to Villanelle’s chest, to fix the button just below her bowtie. “There.” 

Before they go back to reality, Eve steals one more kiss. A tiny peck on the side of Villanelle’s face. A little punctuation for their romp. But something’s off; Villanelle’s entire body goes tense.

Slowly, Eve pulls her face away, and looks where Villanelle is looking. There, at the bottom of the stairs, are their parents. 

For a minute, Eve’s convinced she’s dreaming again. It makes no sense; why aren’t they still in the reception hall, enjoying the party?

Then she puts it together: Bear is behind them, crouched a ways back towards the entrance. Of all the times to venture forth for more pictures…! He has his camera ready and aimed, with the happy couple at the foot of the stairs, the lions in the backdrop.

It would’ve been a really beautiful photo.

Eve and Villanelle remain still as the lion statues, as if that will somehow render them invisible. It’s too late, though. Carolyn and Konstantin’s eyes are on them; Eve can feel their gazes boring into her like a laser. 

Too late, Eve realizes they should not have frozen as they are, with Eve’s hands still on Villanelle’s lapels, and Villanelle’s hand on Eve’s lower back…

The parents stand frozen as well, completely rapt. Not saying a word. Bear holds up his camera, waiting for direction.

Villanelle finally breaks the spell when she reaches up to wipe a smudge of Eve’s lipstick from her chin.

The camera clicks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! What are you doing?! I told you not to panic! It's not like you're stuck on the MTA or anything [(Poor Charlie)!](https://youtu.be/FdEWO5cK1jU?t=44)
> 
> As always you can find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) for bonus content, behind the scenes, thoughts on writing, rejected boobie jokes... etc etc
> 
> loved taking this journey with you all, sad that it's nearly over.
> 
> P.S.: please take a look at this PERFECT depiction of the final moment by [dk_srrybb](https://twitter.com/dk_srrybb/status/1291356315399458816/photo/1) <3


	24. Happy Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out.

_“Me and you, and you and me._  
_No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be._  
_The only one for me is you, and you for me,_  
_So happy together.”_  
—The Turtles

* * *

Eve waits for the storm.

Their parents know the truth. What are they going to say? 

But Carolyn and Konstantin both remain silent, completely shell-shocked at what they are witnessing. 

The twin lion sculptures look down from their pedestals in judgment. _Oh sure,_ Eve thinks, _bet you marble lions have never done anything wrong in your life, ever._

Eve wishes for Carolyn or Konstantin to say something, anything – express any single emotion, even if it’s fury – but nothing. It’s like their voices have been stolen away. 

Bear starts to grow visibly antsy, fiddling with the knobs on his camera, but too afraid to say anything in this clearly uncomfortable family moment.

How long will this go on? Maybe Eve should say something. But what can one say in this situation? _“Congratulations, and guess what – your step-daughters are also your daughters-in-law!”_

Finally, the silence is broken by the sound of footsteps. Then a voice. “Carolyn, I don’t mean to interrupt, but you simply must come and see–”

Geraldine emerges into the entrance hall. For all that she loves to prattle on, the scene that greets her is enough to shut her up for once. Eve watches her eyes dart back and forth between the parents and the children while she processes the situation.

Then she screams.

The sound ricochets off the walls of the entrance hall and bounces through the library corridors. It takes so much air, Geraldine looks like she’s going to faint, but at least there’ll be someone nearby to catch her, because within twenty seconds, every single guest from the wedding pours out into the foyer to see what is going on.

And every single guest, upon seeing Villanelle and Eve posed as they are on the staircase, joins the same stunned silence as their parents.

Except one person.

“Villanelle, what’s going on?” Pyotr’s eyes widen as he finally puts it together. “Your _sister_?”

All at once, the crowd breaks out into a flurry of questions and demands in multiple languages, with everyone talking over each other. Eve can’t even tell if their parents have shown a vocal reaction yet, in all the noise.

“Everyone, _SHUT UP!_ ”

Villanelle’s bellow echoes off the marble floors. The crowd is stunned into silence.

“I can explain.” Villanelle takes a few steps down the staircase, then continues calmly. 

“All of you know us, or at least, each half of this family knows one of us. But since we’re all coming together on this day, let me start over with a proper introduction. I am Villanelle. And this is Eve. She is my wife.”

Villanelle reaches into her pocket and pulls out the aquamarine ring. She slips it onto her left hand. Everyone gasps.

Villanelle looks back up to Eve. “Shit, I didn’t bring my ring,” Eve mumbles as she comes down the steps to Villanelle’s side, “but, uh, you get it…”

Villanelle chuckles, and pulls Eve’s ring out, sliding it on Eve’s finger in one smooth motion. “Good thing I think ahead.”

“I love pockets, and I love you.”

A ripple of gasps runs through the crowd. Apparently the marriage part isn’t so shocking as the love that goes along with it.

Then, the objections come. Just like _Shrek_ , now. Like popcorn throughout the crowd, they burst free one after another:

“How could you do this?”

“Your stepsister?”

“Hey!” Eve snaps. “First of all, we weren’t always family. When we met, we were just two strangers. Then, after we found out, we didn’t want to get in the way of our parents, so, we kept it to ourselves. We’re two people who wanted to get married. Is that so wrong?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Is it even legal?”

“Listen.” Kenny pushes his way towards the front of the crowd, and raises his voice with an uncharacteristic note of authority. “It’s an unusual situation for sure. I was a bit put out when I first got wind of it, too, but if you’d see how much they care about each other–”

“You knew about this?” 

This objection is quiet, and doesn’t come from the center of the crowd, but from the very front. From Carolyn. Her first words on the subject.

Eve itches to say something, but the question wasn’t even directed at her, so she bites her tongue. Kenny glances nervously at her, then back to their mother, and nods.

Carolyn turns and scans the crowd She notices for the first time that not every face seems equally shocked. “Who else knew this?”

Irina’s hand shoots up first; she’s beaming with pride at being in the know. Elena, Bill, and Keiko follow suit, though with a bit more respect. Hugo hesitantly joins them.

“Hugo?” A note of disbelief in Carolyn’s voice, causing the stone of guilt in Eve’s stomach to weigh more heavily.

Then another hand appears in the thick of the guests.

“Gemma?” Eve gasps. “When did you…?”

“About fifteen minutes ago,” Gemma says, blushing. “Was looking for the loo. Heard some noises. Turned right back.”

Then, finally, Konstantin raises his hand too.

“What?!” Carolyn, Eve, and Villanelle, all receive this with shock.

“No proof, but I had my suspicions for a long time,” Konstantin says. “I thought it was best to let it run its course without interference.”

Carolyn’s mouth falls open in surprise, which, for her, is the emotional equivalent of stripping naked. 

“You are the only one who didn’t know your daughters were making the beast with two backs?” Dasha pipes up, pushing towards the front of the crowd with a swagger. “Catching the monkey? Mounting the pommel horse? Fetching horizontal refreshments? You know, hanky-panky?” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Isn’t that embarrassing.”

An awkward silence falls. Carolyn manages to close her mouth, but does not respond. Eve and Villanelle shift uncomfortably at the foot of the staircase. Geraldine bursts out sobbing unprompted.

Then, Carolyn turns on a dime, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea to let her pass as she calmly walks off without another word. 

Silence resumes.

“Hey, everyone!” Elena, ever the hero, steps up and takes charge. “Let’s head back inside! I think they’re about to bring out a chocolate fountain!” She waves an arm and takes the lead, ushering everyone back to the reception.

Slowly, the crowd dissipates, until only Konstantin, Kenny, Villanelle, and Eve remain.

Villanelle turns to Konstantin. “Dad, I–”

“Save it,” he says. “I am not the one who needs comforting right now.”

“I’ve never seen her lost for words like that,” Kenny says.

Eve wrings her hands. “What do we do now?” 

Everyone looks at her.

“No,” Eve shakes her head. “No way. I can’t. She hates me.”

Konstantin gives her a grave look. “You need to talk to her.”

“She won’t want to hear it. What do I even say?”

Kenny shrugs. “Tell her the truth.” He gives her a hug, then, he follows Konstantin back to the reception.

Eve looks to Villanelle, pleadingly, but she already did everything she could – more than enough, really – in handling the crowd. This is Eve’s task alone.

Villanelle offers no hollow words of encouragement, only takes Eve’s hands, kisses her once, and squeezes them. It fills Eve with the strength she needs. 

Eve wanders in the direction Carolyn went, poking through the large empty library corridors, until she comes to a mid-sized reading room, with windows that open onto the central courtyard of the library, and spots Carolyn sitting at one of the desks towards the center of the room.

Carolyn makes no outward acknowledgement of Eve’s entry, though there’s no way she didn’t notice, since the room is otherwise empty and silent. Eve goes and sits at the table, across from her. _Fuck,_ it’s hard to know how to begin this. 

On further consideration, she decides it’s probably best to let Carolyn lead the conversation, so she folds her hands on the table. Twiddles her thumbs. Her mother is really taking her time. 

Without even realizing it, Eve begins fiddling with the pull-string on the green glass-topped reading lamp at the center of the table. She pulls it and it clicks on. Then again, off. On. Off. On. Off.

“Would you stop that?”

Eve releases the string, and looks down at the table. 

Carolyn gives a huge, heaving sigh. “You’d been entirely too quiet,” she begins. “Entirely too agreeable this whole time. I should’ve expected this.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

“You never mean it, do you?”

That one hurts. Even if it’s fair.

“Well… I mean it when I say, I’m sorry I ruined your wedding,” Eve says. “And I mean it when I say I tried not to. It might not look like it to you, but I really, really tried. In the end…” Eve shakes her head. “You’re right. Ruining is what I do…”

“It’s not what I taught you.”

“It’s all I know. And you know it, too. You’ve always known there’s something a little broken in me. That’s why you left me behind.”

The words came out of Eve’s mouth before she even processed what she was saying, but once they’re out, there’s no taking them back. 

“I did not leave you. You refused to come.”

“You took Kenny, you packed up, and you left,” Eve says. “And you left me here on my own.”

“You were an adult,” Carolyn says. “As you so loudly insisted.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t need my mom.”

Carolyn takes a moment to process that.

Her words come slower, even more deliberate than usual when she resumes. “The most important thing I tried to impart upon you and your brother is self-sufficiency.”

Eve nods. “I wouldn’t have been able to survive here on my own without it.”

“But perhaps… even if one possesses the ability to survive without assistance, perhaps it is an undue burden.” Carolyn purses her lips. “Hindsight.”

“Right.”

Eve relaxes a bit of tension she didn’t notice she was holding in her shoulders. How long was she carrying that knot in her muscles? Nineteen years?

“Did I ever tell you,” Carolyn begins, “that shortly after Konstantin and I became acquainted, when we first began engaging in personal conversations, we found something in common rather quickly. We both had adult daughters. Challenging, stubborn things.”

Eve stares down at her hands. Her ring winks at her in the light.

“I know it seems insane,” Eve says, turning her finger back and forth. “I can hardly believe it myself. I don’t want it to sound like I’m making excuses, but I want you to know, I wished so hard for another solution. I wished that it wasn’t really love. Because it was so wrong. But the problem is, we’re so _right_ for each other.”

“Fate has a cruel sense of humor.”

Eve lets out a small laugh at that. “The funniest part is, I tried my best to mess it up. I took every opportunity to self-sabotage, and there’s some deeper issues there, sure, but at least part of it was because I was looking for an out, a way to end it to avoid… well, this. But even with all of that. Once I knew it was real, and right… I shouldn’t have waited and let it blow up like this. I should’ve told you.” Eve lays her hands down flat. “Hindsight.”

Carolyn looks down at her own ring, now. “I’ve always believed a completely fulfilling and satisfying life need not involve romance in any fashion. And I’m proud to say I accomplished that. I had an engaging career, two strong and self-sufficient children, a tight circle of friends, and myriad hobbies. Though I had doubts from external pressure, in truth, I never felt I was lacking. Nor would I say so of anyone else who is single. However, I have come to the opinion, if you shall pardon my figurative language, that romantic love is like a box of chocolates.”

Eve can’t help but reply in a folksy accent, “‘You never know what you’re gonna get’?”

“What?”

“Forrest Gump?”

“Who?”

“Forget it.”

Carolyn knits her brows together, like she’s trying to work out a complicated math problem. “I always found the ending of comedies so frustrating.”

“What?” Eve can never follow her mother’s tangents. She’s always been one to leap to the next topic based on some connection evident only once she’s finished her speech.

“The comedies of Shakespeare. He codified an entire genre with the notion that marriage equals closure, regardless of the unfathomably mad circumstances it took to get there. In _A Midsummer Night’s Dream,_ none of the characters minds that they were given the magical equivalent of Rohypnol to change the direction of their love affection so long as they each end up with a partner to marry. In _Twelfth Night_ , we are to accept that both Orsino and Olivia would have no issue with the object of their love suddenly revealing a different gender, or to receive an apparently identical twin in place of their love? I could not enjoy such ridiculous endings; I felt that all the characters ought to be asking a lot more questions rather than blindly accept the outrageous circumstances.

“As of the present moment, though,” Carolyn continues, “I believe I have discovered an ability to empathize with those characters. It has been a long, eventful day. I am tired. And I find that while there remain a plethora of valid questions, I have neither the desire nor the energy to ask them.”

“So you’re saying… you’re okay with it?”

“Call it a happy ending.”

Eve comes around the table, to embrace Carolyn. “I love you. Mom.”

They hug for a few seconds, until Carolyn murmurs, “Does this feel rather odd to you?”

“Yeah, it does.” Eve promptly releases her. “Let’s never do that again.”

As they begin to make the journey back towards the reception, Eve says, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Did you really not know? Like, really-really? You’re not just pulling some big act right now?”

Carolyn stops short and looks at Eve. “I work in intelligence. I have a well-respected, nay, enviable career of nearly forty years. If I had no suspicion that my daughter and my fiancée’s daughter were forming a romantic bond before our very eyes, I should be fired for incompetence.”

“So… did you?”

Carolyn continues walking again. “Once we return, I do think we’ll skip ahead to serving the cake. I could do with a bit of sweet now.”

* * *

Eve is very relieved to find that there’s enough activity in the room that her and Carolyn’s entrance is not especially dramatic. Thanks to Elena and Kenny doing damage control, the reception back to ‘normal’, or as close to normal as they can get. 

First things first, Eve heads over towards the bar. She needs a drink in her hand – it’s been a fucking day. But there’s someone already in line waiting for a drink. It’s Bear, the photographer. 

“Wow. Still here?” he greets Eve.

“Yeah, still walking.”

“I’ve photographed a lot of weddings. Seen a lot of drama. And I’ve also seen some couples send everyone home over much smaller incidents than what happened here today. This might top my crazy list, actually.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I may not know you, or your family,” Bear says. “But I can tell you this. Your mother must really love you.”

The bartender hands Bear his drink, and he nods to Eve before stepping out of the way. The bartender then looks at Eve expectantly. 

She’s about to go to her default order – Long Island Iced tea – but then, something strikes her. 

“Can you do a Negroni?”

“Sure.”

“Make it two, please.”

Drinks in hand, Eve scans the room. She finally spots Villanelle, cornered her aunt Dasha.

Eve’s pulse already starts to rise as she marches over, even before she’s able to hear what Dasha’s saying. “You are an embarrassment to your father and this entire family. Soon your sister-wife will see it too. Does she know about your old French tutor? She’ll leave once she finds out you’re damaged goods.”

“I can assure you, her wife has no intention of ever leaving her side.” Eve steps in between them. “We never properly met before, did we? I’m Eve, and I do not appreciate the way you’re speaking to my wife. I think you should back off, because if I see you anywhere near her again, I will not hesitate to hurt you.” Dasha opens her mouth to argue, but Eve doesn’t give her the chance. “If you think I’m bluffing, I would like to remind you of the fact that I’ve already ruined this day in spectacular fashion, and yet I’m still here, which proves I can get away with pretty much anything. But, if you’d like to help me test the limits of my newfound immunity, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

Dasha glowers, debating internally, then scoffs and goes.

“By the way,” Eve shouts after her. “I hear Listerine Cool Mint works like a charm.”

Villanelle blinks the shock from her face. “You are…”

“A badass? I know.” Eve hands Villanelle one of the Negronis, then toasts her.

“So I take it this means you patched things up with your mother?”

“You know, I think we really did.”

Then, Konstantin calls for everyone’s attention as they serve the wedding cake. Chocolate cake with buttercream frosting; Carolyn’s favorite. As the knife makes the first cut, Geraldine bursts out crying for the seventh time that day, by Eve’s count. But this time, she isn’t left alone in her sadness – Pyotr appears by her side.

“He always had a lot of feelings,” Villanelle whispers to Eve. “Maybe they’ll be a match.”

“We love to keep it all in the family,” Eve snickers.

They enjoy their cake peacefully.

Just as Eve finishes her final bite, she spots a friend walking by the table, and calls for his attention. “Hugo! Wait!”

He stops in his tracks, and turns to Eve.

“I’m sorry for getting you so wrapped up in this accidentally.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” Hugo brushes it off.

“No, you just agreed to go on a blind date, you didn’t sign up for all this drama…”

“Look, Eve. I’m glad we met. I made a fat commission off you, and that’s more than I get from most blind dates. Plus, you’ve given me some really nutty stories to tell the next girl.”

“Thanks,” Eve says. “For the house, and for being so… cool. If you ever want to come over again. Not as a realtor, but just to hang. You’re welcome to.”

“If you and the missus have a housewarming party, you know how to find me.”

Then, a clinking. Everyone follows suit, clinking silverware against their glasses, to get the crowd’s attention. Carolyn has risen from her seat, to address the guests.

“It isn’t traditional to make a toast at one’s own wedding, but then, I have never been traditional. Nothing about this new family we have formed, is, indeed, traditional.” Carolyn raises an eyebrow at this, and lets the crowd murmur until they get it out, and silence falls again.

“‘If music be the food of love, play on’ – so it is oft quoted at these sorts of events. I can’t stand that quote. I can’t stand that entire speech of Orsino’s, for what it is, if you read it properly, read it in context rather than drooling over an opening line stripped of meaning – it’s a dream. A lazy dream, articulated by an effete, timid man, who, for all his nobility, lacks the bravery to directly confront the object of his supposedly irascible love.

“Love is not a dream. It is not worth losing sleep over. It is not ‘full of shapes and fancy’, it is full of pain and compromises. It is not ‘high fantastical’, it is in fact rather mundane in origins. Like a box of chocolates. Fine, quality chocolate, not the kind you find in American candy bars. Belgian or German. Seventy percent cacao. It is not a necessary part of a balanced life diet, but it is a delicious luxury, one which I should never deny to anyone who comes across it. However, this sweet luxury begins in the most mundane form of all, a simple bean.

“And yet, I give thanks every day for mundane things. I am thankful for lungs. For skin. For shelter. For food. I am thankful for plants, pencils, seatbelts, refrigerators, telephones. And I am thankful for Belgian chocolate. So why should I not add love into that list? While not the miracle cure it is purported to be, it serves a purpose nonetheless. It is a naturally occurring phenomenon. Much like the tides, the wind, or rain. And as the Fool declares in the play’s final lines: ‘The rain, it raineth every day.’”

Villanelle mutters to Eve, “Yesterday. But not every day. Only our wedding day ruined, but for then, the next day, the sun comes out.”

“Are you quoting _Annie_ again?”

Then Konstantin stands, and holds up his glass. “Love is a blessing. And we are lucky to have so much of it here among us. As a parent, you spend your whole life hoping for your children to be happy, trying to find what is best for them. Most of the time, they figure it out themselves, and they surprise you.”

A murmur of laughter at this.

“But love is a welcome surprise. And so, even if my wife thinks it is perfectly regular, I have to disagree with her. I say it is special. My love for you, Carolyn, is special. And Eve, Villanelle.” He raises his glass in their direction, choking up a bit as he gets to his daughter’s name. “And maybe we will be at another wedding in the near future, eh, Kenny?”

Everyone’s eyes fall on Kenny, whose faces goes as red as Elena’s dress. 

“Propose now!” someone shouts.

Irina starts chanting, and she’s quickly joined by Villanelle. “Marry her! Marry her! Marry her!”

Kenny’s mouth opens and shuts, but no words come out. 

“Look what you’ve done,” Elena says. “You broke him.”

“I think,” Kenny finally manages. “I think we’re not quite ready for that. We’d rather take our time.”

“Weirdos,” Villanelle mutters.

Then, after officially capping off their toasts, Carolyn and Konstantin finally take the floor for their first dance as a couple. 

The sight might’ve made Eve gag before, or at least make some snide comment, but as she watches them exist in a world of their own, totally separate from the rest of the crowd in the room, it warms her. She’s on Konstantin’s side in this debate: there’s got to be something extraordinary at play, in love.

“They are sweet, aren’t they?” Villanelle says. “Maybe their marriage will be as strong as ours someday.”

“Shut up,” Eve laughs.

As the first song ends, others begin to join the bride and groom on the dance floor.

“Look over there.” Eve nudges Villanelle.

Gemma and Hugo have found each other. They’re chatting, and from the way her face crinkles into a smile at what he said, they seem to be having a wonderful time. Hugo stands up, and extends a hand to her, which Gemma accepts.

“Oh my god, they’re going to dance! Are you jealous, Eve?”

“Jealous over the guy I went on one date with? No, I’m fine.”

“I meant about the cousin with the big bazoingas that you obviously want to–”

“Okay, enough jokes about that for one day.”

The next time the song shifts, the introduction to “Tiny Dancer” begins to play through the speakers. Little Bor’ka was already having a great time by himself on the dance floor, but he starts jumping up and down. “They’re playing it! Like I asked!”

Then, he marches over towards their table. He offers his hand to Villanelle. “This song is no good for dancing alone.”

Villanelle lights up, takes his hand, and follows him onto the dance floor. She takes his hands, and lets him step his feet on her feet, shifting slowly in time with the music. 

Eve watches from a distance, utterly in love, as Villanelle entertains her little cousin, who pours his whole heart into the dance.

The song ends. Bor’ka bows to Villanelle. She shakes his hand, then leaves to rejoin Eve. 

“Adorable,” Eve says. “But if you’re finished with him, maybe your wife can have a turn now?”

Villanelle offers her hand, and helps Eve up and out onto the dance floor. 

It brings Eve back to the first time they met… they danced together then, too, though it was totally different. Grinding in the club, versus holding each other as a married couple.

She takes Villanelle’s hand, and rests her other on her shoulder. The first few steps are awkward as they negotiate their rhythm.

“You think that just because you’re wearing a suit, that means you’re leading?”

“You’ve always been the leader, haven’t you?”

“Not that you’re ever far behind.”

They fall into it, and sway softly to the beat. Eve’s a bit nervous, at first, to be dancing together so openly like this, but when she chances a look around, no one is really focused on them. Everyone else is enjoying themselves, not worried about Eve and Villanelle anymore. They’re just another couple among many.

A few minutes later, Bill and Keiko dance their way over to them.

“So glad you two could make it,” Eve greets them.

“You two really know how to make a day dramatic, don’t you?” Bill winks.

“You know we didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

“I’m only kidding. I’m so glad for you. Speaking of which, I have good news and bad news.”

Villanelle lights up. “What’s the good news?”

Eve rolls her eyes. “You’re supposed to ask for the bad first, stupid.”

“Well, I want the good first.”

“The good news is…” Bill lowers Keiko into a dramatic dip. “We’re having a baby.”

“Congratulations!” Eve says. 

“And the bad?” Villanelle asks.

Bill’s face turns soberly grim. “I hate to break this to you, Eve… but you’re officially a dog of the government now.”

“What?”

“You got the job.” He breaks out into a mischievous smile. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Then Bill and Keiko dance away, leaving Eve to her triumph. 

“I’m so proud of you.” Villanelle kisses her.

“I can’t believe it’s all happening like this at once. And Bill’s gonna be a dad, too!”

“A baby is a big thing.”

Eve looks at the soft astonishment on Villanelle’s face, then recalls how content she looked as she was dancing with Bor’ka.“Do you want one of those someday?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank God,” Eve sighs. “Me neither.”

Eve leans her head in to rest on Villanelle’s chest as they continue to sway gently.

They made it, somehow. The hardest part is over, and now, they’re here, in each other’s arms.

And it’s only the beginning.

* * *

As late afternoon slides into early evening, the energy winds down to a relaxed level. Everyone is full of cake, and drinks, generally content. Even Dasha has given up trying to pick a fight with everyone around her, as she merrily sings some off-key Russian melody trying to drown out the music over the speakers.

Villanelle and Eve have taken a rest from dancing – Eve’s feet really hurt by this point, and she’s aching to take off her heels, but removing her shoes at the reception might actually cross the line in Carolyn’s eyes and get her kicked out. So they rest.

“Are you two busy at the moment?”

Eve looks up. Bear has appeared, holding his camera again. “I was sent to ask you, because, your parents thought it might be nice to get another round of pictures. Outside. While the light’s still good.”

Eve looks to Villanelle. Her expression says, _“why not?”_

They follow Bear out to the main entrance of the library, with the wide stone steps. The rest of the immediate family is already waiting for them. Kenny seems to have finally recovered from his mortal embarrassment, as his skin has returned to its natural pallor.

“Thank you for indulging us,” Carolyn says. 

“Let’s try some different arrangements from before,” Bear says, as he positions himself at the foot of the steps to frame the shot. “Kenny, Elena, how about you stand on the left of your parents. Irina, you can join them in the center. Eve and Villanelle, you take the right.”

As they follow the instructions, given without any fanfare, Eve’s heart fills so much that she thinks she might pull a Geraldine and burst out crying on the spot. This isn’t for the parents’ sake at all. They went out of their way just to get a new round of photos where Eve and Villanelle could be together.

The camera clicks, over and over, but even once Bear gives them the thumbs up that he’s got enough shots, Eve couldn’t stop smiling if she tried. 

Bear heads back inside to get a few more shots of the crowd, but the family remains on the steps. It’s nice to have a break from the crowd, so they enjoy the light summer air for a few more minutes.

Eve turns to the parents. “Thank you.” It’s all she can manage to say, but it gets the message across.

Through some unspoken agreement, they begin to stroll across the street, then into the expanse of Copley Square. The sky above is blue. The grass ahead is green. The air is warm and clear. A few passersby turn their heads at the pairs in formal dress walking hand in hand, but Eve realizes that to a stranger, they must look like any regular wedding party. Just… a few people in love.

Carolyn takes a deep breath as they round the perimeter of the park. “This is not what I imagined, for me, or for you…” 

Konstantin takes her hand. “But it would be foolish not to accept such a blessing.”

Kenny takes Elena’s hand. “We’re happy. We’re together.”

Villanelle likewise takes Eve’s hand, then she looks her wife in the eyes. “That’s all that matters.”

The smells and sounds of Boston blend together in the background, welcoming them. 

Eve looks to her family, her love, and the familiar sights around her. “I’m so glad I found my way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SPECIAL THANKS:**
> 
> -To [Vaultdweller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultdweller/works) for coming up with the entire concept for this fic, which I shamelessly stole and ran with, and [@EveIncorrect](https://twitter.com/eveincorrect) on twitter for the title which I also stole :)
> 
> -To Kara and Lauren, for being the best supports/consultants/inspirations I could ever ask for in writing my first genuine longfic
> 
> -To Spence, Haley, Victoria, et al, for being amazing cheerleaders and keeping me going
> 
> -To each and every artist who blessed my undeserving soul with amazing renditions of scenes from this story! Your TALENT blows me away!
> 
> -To every one of you who has read, commented, or silently appreciated this whole time. this fic was never intended to be this huge, but it grew from what you put into it. In the end, it’s truly a labor of love for you who read it. Thank you.
> 
> \--  
> It has been such an unexpected, delightful journey writing this story. I have a lot more ~thoughts~ about it that I'll probably be sharing on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) for the next several days... feel free to come chat with me on either of those sites, too, if you want to. You can also listen to the now-complete [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uZynKCs2OZ1gxKmYX4XDG) for this story :)
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, stay tuned for what comes next. A couple more bits in this universe might be coming down the line, plus I have plenty of other villaneve stories you might enjoy. Take care. Love you all. xo


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